What You Do Afterwards: Season Five
by myheadsgonenumb
Summary: Years ago, Higher Power Cordy rewrote history & changed her own destiny forever. But the butterfly effect of her choice rippled throughout all their lives, irrevocably changing the way things were meant to be. And now her family has split in two - fighting on opposite sides of the war. Destiny has been altered - but has it been for the better? A Cordy & Doyle live S5 rewrite. CH90
1. The Big Moments

**A/N This is a season 5 Doyle lives rewrite that foilows on from my seasons 1-4 rewrites. It is now also a 'Cordelia lives' rewrite. As with the show - S5 throws out almost everything that has gone before and starts fresh, going in a completely different direction - so if you haven't read the previous seasons you will probably be able to follow along easily enough. If you want to read them, though, you can access them by clicking on my username and going to my profile page - and I will see you back here in about ten years (there's a lot to read!)**

**For all the old hats - welcome back and thank you for continuing reading. The drill is the same as always - 22 episodes each split into four parts. I will post the four parts Friday- Monday, as usual - but there won't be updates every week this time, though I will post as often as possible. I will always post an episode in it's entirety, when they are ready, I won't post 2 parts and then leave you dangling for weeks for the second half! This season, as it is the last one, also includes a short prologue (the chapter you're about to read) and an epilogue, taking the total of chapters up to 90.**

**As always the story follows all the major characters, they all get their big moments and development and Doyle (and now Cordy) is not allowed to steal from them. **

**The good news is that the main pairing is now unequivocally Doyle/ Cordy - and nothing will be getting in their way this time. We are through the dark times and are on track for our happy ending. The various love triangles over at Wolfram and Hart are also ongoing.**

**Finally, the date of publishing this story - 30th November 2019 - marks the 20th anniversary of the first airing of 'Hero'. Today is the 20th anniversary of Doyle's official death - and it was important to me that I start this story today, in particular. I didn't see Angel from the very beginning the first time around, i came in a few weeks later - but from the very first episode I saw, Doyle was absolutely the stand out character and my favourite part of the show. i didn't watch the, maybe, last five minutes of the first episode I saw - my parents came home and back in those days the cable channels were only on the downstairs television - but I'd seen enough of Buffy to know how the whole thing would finish up - it wasn't a big deal to miss the very end. Except for one thing. The episode I was watching - my very first episode of Angel - was 'Hero'. I spent the whole of the next week (in blissful ignorance) looking forward to seeing the next episode - and in particular 'that Irish guy' (whose name I kept forgetting - and I had to keep doing that thing where I purposefully didn't think about it so I would remember). Finally the night arrived, Buffy finished ('Hush') and I was so stoked for the start of Angel ... and then I saw the 'previously ons'... YOU F******G WHAT?**

**I spent the whole of 'Parting Gifts' waiting for it all to turn out not to be real, for there to be a loophole, for Doyle to come back somehow. It's now been 20 years - and I am still waiting for Doyle to come back somehow. But the universe had other ideas for Angel the Series - and tragically, for Glenn - as well. It is a massive testament to his talent and charm and the life he imbued in his character, though, that 20 years later people still remember Doyle, and still care enough to write and read stories about the character. There are 110 episodes of Angel - Doyle was in only 9 of them - and for me, at least, he is still the very best part of the show. I will never be OK with how little of him we got in reality, or how the Doyle/Cordy relationship was never given the chance to properly develop. Thank Goodness for fan fiction - and the internet for letting us share it.**

**So here - on the 20th Anniversary of the day he died - is the final instalment of Doyle's journey. I hope you enjoy xx**

* * *

**The Big Moments.**

Far above the world, on the higher planes, the eternal struggle between good and evil played out. The Powers for Light and Dark, locked in their ongoing battle, moved their chess pieces around the board. Down on earth, their pawns fought - and their pawns died, but The Powers played on. There was nothing but the game - and they were compelled to see it through. Just to see who would win in the end.

The Powers of the Lower Realms - The Senior Partners - had just made their move. Capturing a champion for the PTB and taking him for their own side. They were happy. Pleased with themselves. This was a coup. The vampire with a soul was a fine prize and this must surely sway the prophecy for the final days in their favour. No one knew which side this vampire was to fight on … but now he belonged to the Powers of Dark and they were keeping tight hold of him. And the whole world would have to reshape around this loss of a champion of light.

And reshape it did. The Powers That Be moved next - nudging at the girl, the slayer, manipulating her to do this one service for their cause. And now there were hundreds - thousands just like her. Brand new Warriors of Light, brought onto the earth to fight the good fight. And one girl in particular - chosen to replace the vampire with a soul as the champion of the City of Angels.

So now it was the Senior Partner's move once more… but they were in no hurry. The game was eternal, the chess board ever changing - they had aeons to wait, if they should so choose. Nothing hasty … scanning the board for a weakness, biding their time.

The PTB were happy to bide their time as well. As gifted as they were with their army of slayers - they were not yet finished with the vampire with a soul. In the game of chess, a knight is most effective when he is in a square that cannot be attacked by enemy pawns. And the vampire was now CEO of the Los Angeles branch, where all the pawns of The Senior Partners could not touch him - would not think to. He was in the midst of his enemies - and completely unassailable. He could still be of much use to the Powers of Light, if he wanted to be.

The Senior Partners believed they had him. That they had taken him and he belonged to them now. The Powers that Be were not as sure. The big moment had come - there was nothing the vampire could do about that - but that was not what was important. It was what he would do afterwards that would count. That was when he - and all the Higher Powers - would find out who he really was.

So the game continued - ineffable and eternal. And down on the earth, the little players looked around at the new landscape of their board; coming to terms with the big moments that had come and had changed them, changed their lives … and wondering what they should do next.

* * *

**A/N Part one of episode one: 'Conviction' will be posted on Friday. See you then : ) **


	2. Conviction: Part One

**Conviction**

_Part One_

_Los Angeles. You see it at night and it shines. Like a beacon. People are drawn to it. People and ... other things. They come for all sorts of reasons, big and small: to realise a dream, start a new job, to run away, to run towards, because they drifted here, because they chose it. Whatever their reason - Los Angeles doesn't care - it absorbs them all, the dreamers and the drifters, the winners and the losers, the big shots and the underdogs. It takes them all in… and spits them all out. But while they're here, the city plays the backdrop to the story of their lives. The unspoken, final character in all of their personal fictions - witness to all their joys and successes, their miseries and their failures - the ups and the downs that weave their narratives into one complete whole. Ever watching, ever changing - Los Angeles is there at the start of so many stories - and remains in the background as they unfold and evolve and - finally - come to an end. And this particular story - like so many others - starts with a girl ..._

* * *

Cordelia walked down the road, her stake in her hand. She was out patrolling. She'd been out patrolling every night for the past two weeks - trying to get used to it. She wasn't used to it. She glanced at the man walking beside her - she was glad he was there. Of course she was, but … she didn't really need him there did she? _Buffy_ didn't ever need to take anyone with her on patrol, did she? She just let people tag along - which was what Cordelia was now doing with Doyle. And that made her feel guilty. She didn't want to not need Doyle … but she was like Buffy now. She could do all this alone.

Doyle saw her looking at him and he smiled at her. 'You OK?' he asked her, squeezing her hand.

'Yeah.'

They heard a woman scream in the distance, 'good - 'cause I think that's the sound of your destiny callin'.'

...

The girl screamed when the vampire jumped out in front of her. From his vantage point high above the city, on the roof tops, Angel heard her scream. The girl backed away, her face was crumpled and her voice, as she pleaded, was a whimper. 'Please,' she said, 'you don't have to do this, I can get you money - you don't have to…' The vampire grabbed her and she screamed again. 'Help, somebody, please!'

Angel ran across the roof top - he jumped the block and landed on the next roof, continuing running without missing a step. He ran from building top to building top until he was directly above the alley. Then he grabbed hold of a rope and jumped off the roof swinging across the alley - a dark shape flying through the night sky. As he neared the ground he kicked the vampire in the face, knocking him to the floor, then he let go of the rope - backflipping off and landing on his feet. His long, leather coat billowed around him as he sauntered towards the downed vampire. 'Doesn't sound like the lady's interested. Maybe you're coming off as too needy.'

...

Cordelia rounded the corner and came to a stop. She saw a woman being pinned against the wall by two vampires. 'Please,' the woman was crying, 'anything you want - please. I'll give you anything…' But the vampires were not interested in her desperate bargaining.

'I always wanted a pony,' Cordelia said loudly. The two vampires pulled back from their victim and turned to stare at her. Even the woman was staring at her, looking confused.

'The IRS took my palomino, Keanu - and I'd really like another one …' she smiled bashfully, as if suddenly embarrassed by a realisation. 'Oh, I guess you weren't talking to me, huh?'

'What are you doing?' The woman cried out to her as if she thought Cordy were mad. 'Get out of here!' But the vampires were starting to smile. 'No - she wants to stay,' one of them leered, 'looks like we just found ourselves dessert. Grab her.' He nodded at his buddy, and the second vampire moved away from their victim and sidled towards Cordelia, his eyes were hungry. 'This one's pretty,' he grinned as he moved towards her, 'little girl you are gonna taste so …'

She whipped her stake out and plunged it into his heart. 'Oh please.' There was just time for his eyes to widen in surprise, and the shock to register on his face - before he exploded in a cloud of dust. Then she looked up at the other vampire - it was she who was smiling now. 'You might wanna make with the screaming,' she said - and then launched herself towards him.

As she grabbed hold of the vampire and flung him against the far wall - she heard the sound of Doyle finally turning the corner of the alleyway. He was panting - out of breath. She had got here so much quicker than he had. She could move so much faster than he could now.

...

The vampire flipped itself up off the ground and then launched itself into a flying sidekick at Angel, his foot connecting with Angel's ribs. Angel staggered backward and the vampire followed his kick up with a punch. But Angel ducked it and then came up swinging, burying his own fist in the vampire's face. This time it was the vampire who staggered backwards, losing his footing.

The woman stood still, staring wide eyed as her attacker and her saviour danced around each other, two stepping around the alley, their fists flying fast and furious. Angel ducked another swing and then backed up - creating space - then he used his left leg to launch from the ground, kicking his right leg out and striking the vampire directly in the chest. The vampire fell back to the floor - but flipped himself up again, immediately. He raised his own foot ready to kick out, but Angel grabbed hold of it and used it to spin him around. He pulled so hard the vampire actually left the ground and was spun through the air - Angel still holding his foot, until he let go - and the vampire hurtled, headfirst, into the wall. He collapsed to the ground, dazed and bleeding, and Angel walked towards him slowly. He took a stake from his belt and twirled it like a gunfighter from the Old West. And then he lunged at the vampire and drove the stake deep into its heart. The vampire screamed - and then exploded in a cloud of dust.

...

Doyle glanced at Cordelia - she was holding her own, and so he ducked past her down the alley and went to the woman's side. 'Are you alright, darlin'?' he asked her gently.

'Wh - what?' The woman tore her gaze away from the fighting pair and turned to look at Doyle, her eyes were wide and a bit wild.

'Are you hurt?' he asked her. She shook her head - still looking frightened and unsure.

Down the alley, the vampire punched Cordy in the face. Cordelia was thrown backwards and tumbled over the garbage cans that were standing there. She knocked the cans down as she fell - and the garbage spilled out across the ground. _'Eww!'_ she cried picking herself up. She also picked up the metal lid of the trashcan and used it to smack the vampire in the face. 'That's _disgusting!_' She smacked him again - and this time the force was enough to send him flying down the alley. He slammed against the jutting out wall of the building and lay on the floor in a crumpled heap - staring up at the girl bearing down on him. She was just a girl. Barely more than a kid. But she had a right hook on her like a mack truck. '_What are you_?' he asked her, his voice as frightened as his expression.

'Don't you know?' Cordelia asked. She reached down and grabbed him by his shirt front and then hauled him up, so he was dangling by her left fist in mid air. He looked down at his hanging toes - and then into her face. 'How?'

'Vampire Slayer - comma - _A_,' she said to him, 'look it up', - and then rammed her stake home into his heart.

...

The girl stared at the spot where the vampire had just … vanished. 'What ju…' she took a deep breath and shook her head. 'I don't understand.'

'Look, don't try,' Angel said to her. 'Just get yourself home and stay out of dark alleys. You'll be alright.' He smiled at her - pleasant but mysterious - and then turned to leave.

'But … who are you?' she called after him as he walked away. He didn't turn back to her - though he could feel her staring. Instead he just threw his answer over his shoulder, as he melted into the shadows. 'Doesn't matter.'

There was the sound of tyres screeching and he was suddenly blocked in by a load of SUVs. A searchlight was shone down on him - illuminating the whole alley - and a SWAT team, all in black, circled round him - pointing their guns. 'Angel!'

...

Cordelia turned and saw Doyle standing with the frightened woman, she headed towards them. 'How's she doing?' she asked.

'In shock,' he told her, 'how are you?'

'Covered in trash … did I mention I hate this gig?'

'Y'did - loudly and often.'

'Well I do.'

He smiled at her, 'I know it, Princess. But we should probably get this lady home, yeah?'

The woman stared between the two of them - her expression suggesting that she wasn't sure if they were mad - or she was. 'Who are you people?' she asked them, between taking great gasps of breath. 'What the hell just happened?'

The young couple exchanged a glance. 'It's a long and pretty boring story, truth be told,' Doyle shrugged, 'and you probably don't wanna hear it. We've got our car nearby - we can get y' home, if you'd like?'

The woman looked up at the dark of the sky, and down the alley where the two men who had been trying to kill her had just turned to dust - and then she looked back at the kindly, smiling faces of the woman who had rescued her and the man who had taken care of her. She nodded, stiffly - still too shocked to be more grateful - and they ushered her out of the alley and back towards where they had parked the Plymouth.

...

The head of the swat team spoke into his radio. 'Area's secure. Angel is unharmed. Hostiles contained. Sweep area and confirm.' Then he pulled off his ski mask and spoke to Angel, 'Angel, sir.'

More cars pulled up, then - each with their headlights glaring at Angel and the woman. A man in a suit - a lawyer - got out of his car. 'Angel!' he called out.

'We got report of your movement and came for backup,' the chief SWAT guy said. Angel looked between the lawyer and the commando, his face showed how discombobulated he was by this turn of events.

'But -'

'I'm Agent Hauser. I run your operations team,' the commando said - just as the lawyer reached Angel's side - panting and out of breath. 'Hi, glad we caught you. Really would…' he cut himself off to speak to another lawyer, 'get the forms from her,' and then turned back to Angel. 'Really would prefer it if you didn't leave a rescue scenario until we had a chance to control the scene. Of course, that is your decision, sir, but—'

Angel looked around at all the people now crowded into the alleyway in complete befuddlement. 'How did you…'

'Tracking monitor in your lapel,' the lawyer said, pointing at Angel's collar. 'And what a time saver, too, huh?' He glanced down at his watch.

Further down the alley - the other lawyer was handing form after form to the young woman, getting her to sign. She was looking just as confused as Angel felt - and was shooting suspicious glances at him in between signing indemnity clauses and non-disclosure agreements, confirming that she had just been rescued by Angel: CEO and President of Wolfram and Hart.

The lawyer beside Angel started pushing him back towards the young woman, 'if we could just get a couple of photos of you two, that would be great … and - uh - Now, uh, the vampire that you terminated, he actually did work for one of your clients. So, but, hey! First week, no one will squawk, OK?' He patted the vampire on the shoulder and then shoved him so he was standing next to the girl.

She stared up at him. 'You run a law firm?' she asked - her voice was disbelieving - and no longer had the warm tone of awe and gratitude it had had before. Angel shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say, as the flashes of the cameras went off around them. 'No.' He stammered, 'I mean … well - sort of. Well ...just lately.'

The lawyer with the contracts pointed to another line on the document. 'I need you to initial here, concerning your immortal soul,' he said. She initialled the document whilst staring up at Angel in disgust. 'You did this for the publicity?'

'No!' he protested. 'I help …' he realised how stupid this sounded - especially here, surrounded by cars and commandos and lawyers, '...the hopeless.' He blinked and looked around at it all. Wondering what had happened, how this had happened. How it had all got so out of control.

'Angel,' the lawyer said to him, 'would you like me to bring your car around, sir? Or anything at all? Mocha? Latte? Decaf?'

* * *

The bell rang and Matt made his way down the corridor towards his classroom. His friend called him to wait up and they walked into class talking comics. His friend had just got the Punisher - and it was so cool, because he killed everyone. Matt was bummed out - his dad wouldn't let him read that one, but his friend promised to lend it to him.

They walked into the classroom, past the numbers display and the reading corner and made their way towards their little desks. The teacher handed Matt his homework back. 'Matthew. It's pretty good. We can talk about it after class.' She raised her voice. 'OK - settle down everyone...'

* * *

Cordelia sighed and took another sip of her coffee. Then she screwed her nose up and went back to perusing her bills. It had been an expensive couple of weeks - her and Doyle had spent everyday in her apartment, so her electricity bill was way up. Her water bill would no doubt be the same when it came. And their 'company' phones were now their _personal_ problem … as the company they worked for was defunct. 'I don't know, Dennis,' she said to the air around her. 'What do you reckon? Auction off some of our more antique weapons … or some of Wes' books? Maybe we could sell one of the cars?... Or a kidney. Ngggh!' she grunted in frustration and slammed her head back against the couch cushions. 'This is just the biggest disaster. I don't know how we'll…'

The phone began to ring - and she dropped her bills and leapt across the room, grabbing it on only its third ring. 'Hello - Angel Investigations - we help the Hopeless. How can we help you?'

'It's me, darlin',' Doyle's voice said from down the other end of the line.

'Oh. Hey, Doyle,' she walked back over to the couch and flopped down heavily, resting her head against the back again and throwing her arm across her eyes.

'Don't sound so thrilled!' he said to her, sarcastically.

'I'm sorry - I was just looking at the bills. We need a client - I was hoping …'

'Yeah - I know. But I think I found somethin' that might help us.'

She sat up straight. 'A client?' she asked excitedly, 'did you find us a client? Who can pay?'

But she heard him chuckle in response, and knew the answer was 'no' before he said anything. She slumped back down again.

'Not a client,' Doyle told her, 'but somethin' that might help draw some in - make us look a bit more professional, like.'

'What?' she asked suspiciously.

'Just come and meet me.' He gave her the address of a coffee shop and she agreed to meet him there in twenty minutes. Then she hung up the phone, drained her coffee mug and folded her bills back into their envelopes. 'Well - they're not really asking for their money until they send the final notice, are they?' she asked Dennis. 'I don't need to worry until the writing's red.'

She got to her feet and slipped her shoes on. Then she went to the closet to get her jacket. She put her hand on the handle and pulled. Just the normal amount of force. One quick tug. The force she always used - always needed to open that closet. She'd lived here for over four years - she knew how to open the closet. It's not like she was trying to rip the door off by its hinges, she wasn't a crazy person, but … CRACK … there it was, dangling off its hinges and in her hand. 'Dammit!' she yelled. She'd forgotten about her super strength. Again. This whole slayer thing was really taking a lot of adjustment. 'Dennis!' she called, staring at the entire door dangling from her hand - it didn't even feel heavy - 'open the front door for me!'

* * *

In the lobby of Wolfram and Hart, the mailman pushed his cart past the elevator. He was a hunched old man and he wore a red and blue Mexican wrestling mask with a number 5 on it. The top piece of mail was a package - addressed to Angel's Wolfram and Hart office.

...

The elevator bell rang and the door slid open. Fred was inside - holding a box of personal belongings, and peering around in confusion. The door opened on both sides - and she was peering the wrong way - unaware of the open door behind her. She thought she had pressed to go to the lobby, but now she was looking at a corridor.

'Fred?'

She jumped and turned round - Wesley was stood in the open doorway behind her, holding a coffee mug. The doors began to shut in her face. 'Wesley!'

He put his hand round the edge of the door and it slid back open. She walked out of the elevator smiling at him. 'I'm always getting turned around.'

'Can I help you with any of that?' he asked, gesturing to the box. But she wasn't paying attention. She was staring around at the lobby in awe. 'It's so big!'

'It does take some getting used to.'

'Have you seen my lab?' she asked him - her eyes shining with both excitement and disbelief. 'It's giganimous! And I'm in charge.'

'Well I'm sure you'll have no trouble…'

'I don't even understand half of what they're doing,' she cut across him. 'There's this machine, 6 feet tall, it makes this noise - Whoompah! Whoompah! Pfft.' She blew a loud raspberry - and then shrugged, chuckling. 'Not a clue.'

Wesley took a sip of his coffee. 'Well, I'm still stuck back at, "Why on earth are we here?"'

'What, because we're crusaders against evil and now the law firm that represents most of the evil in the world has given us its L.A. branch to run however we want, probably in an attempt to corrupt, divide, or destroy us, and we all said yes in, like, 3 minutes?' She said, without pausing to draw breath.

Wesley however, took a deep breath - and then nodded. That was what he meant yes. 'Well, your run on sentences have got a lot less pointless.'

She wrinkled her nose and grinned, 'that's so sweet,' then her smile faltered, 'and a tad condescending.'

'Are you sure I can't help you with..' he gestured to the box again, but Fred turned away from him as she heard someone call out her name.

'Ms. Burkle!' Knox came jogging down the lobby stairs and then came to a stop beside her. She smiled at him, apparently delighted to see him - if the way her expression lit up was anything to go by, and then introduced him to Wesley. 'And I told you to call me Fred,' she said in mock stern tones.

'Oh - any minute now. That's a promise from me to you.' They both laughed and he gestured at the box in her arms. 'Can I help you with that?'

'Oh thanks!' she grinned, handing it over to him.

Wesley cleared his throat - trying not to look put out. 'So, _Knox_, how long have you been - uh - evil?'

But Knox only laughed - he just mixed the potions. And anyway - now he was working for 'el jefe' - he grinned at Fred, who grinned back - he'd probably be saving the world on a weekly basis.

'Good for you,' Wesley said icily.

Knox smiled at him - but then immediately turned to Fred, cutting the British man out of the conversation. 'Do you know how to get to your office from here?' he asked her.

'Why? Did somebody eat my breadcrumbs?' They both laughed - and he offered to show her, heading up the stairs. Fred ran after him eagerly, only thinking to say bye to Wes as an afterthought.

Wesley watched them leave, drinking his coffee.

...

'Think fast!'

A basketball suddenly flew right at him - and he caught it with his free hand just as it smashed into his stomach. Gunn walked up to him grinning. 'Hey! Gotta be faster than that in this place.'

'Cricket's more my game.'

'I've made up my mind.'

'About what?'

Gunn started to lead him through the lobby and towards the executive offices. 'I want the one on the left. This one makes me feel a little bit less completely out of place. I'd say 17% less. Plus... ' As they stepped inside he gestured to the large window taking up the external wall. '...A little bit of a view of the mountains. Lived my whole life in L.A., now I find out there are mountains. A brother should be told.'

'It's very nice,' Wesley agreed, nodding and looking around.

'So - yours,' Gunn led him through to the adjoining office. 'I mean if it works for you. We can switch if you don't like - you know, the kung pao - or whatever.'

'Feng shui.'

'Yeah - what does that mean again?'

'It means people will believe anything,' Wesley told him. Then he considered the point. Actually - in a place like this - Feng shui would probably have great significance. If he aligned his furniture the wrong way it would probably light on fire or turn into a pudding or something.

'You having second thoughts?' Gunn asked him.

'You're not?'

'Man, do I look like I belong here? You got the mystical creds at least. I just hit stuff. I mean, even if this works, and we can turn this place around, use it to do some good, it's gonna be a long, long while before any of us gets anywhere near comfortable here.'

...

But - giving the lie to Gunn's words, Lorne walked down the lobby stairs, just then, talking into his cell phone, grinning broadly. A man hurried along beside him flipping through a large binder of carpet swatches.

'Oh, sweetie, it's perfect!' He said into the phone. 'Yes, it's perfect. It's the project you've been waiting for. Yeah, it's "Joanie Loves Chachi" meets "The Sorrow and the Pity." It's "Joanie Loves Pity." And you're— '

He put the cell against his shoulder and spoke the man with the binder. 'yeah, that carpet's great - because I want our clients to become dizzy and vomit. Keep flipping, huh?' And then back to the phone. 'Yeah, you're a shoo-in. The part's yours. Yeah, I've got a whole freezer full of horses' heads downstairs. No, I'm just kidding. But listen, the producer's a client, so read it and we'll talk.'

He snapped the cell shut and concentrated on the carpet swatches as he and his flunky left the lobby and walked down the corridor. 'OK. Better. Horrible and pathetic, but better.'

...

As they passed the elevator doors, the doors slid open to reveal Angel standing there - peering confusedly out at the corridor. He had pressed for the lobby …

'You lost boss?' Gunn asked from behind him - he turned. There was the lobby! 'On a lot of levels,' he answered. 'Did you hear what happened to me last night?' he asked Wes and Gunn - as the three of them walked towards Angel's office.

'You got lucky?' Gunn asked, sounding impressed.

'They put a tracer on me!' he told them, still sounding irritated - and more than a little embarrassed. 'I was working the town, helping the hopeless, which is a thing I like to do. All of a sudden, the entire firm shows up in the alley.'

'We'll make sure it doesn't happen again,' Wesley assured him.

'We're turning this place inside out,' Angel said, buttoning up his jacket. 'If they wanna see how I handle running Wolfram and Hart then they're gonna find out. Everything must go…' he pushed open both doors at once and swept inside, before coming to a halt and staring at his desk. '...Starting with that.'

...

Lilah was sat on his desk, her long legs crossed. 'Morning slugger,' she said to him.

'Lilah … what the hell are you doing here?'

She raised one sardonic eyebrow at him. 'Oh - there may be some confusion. I'm Lilah Morgan. I work here. For the past … decade or so.'

'But this is my office. Shouldn't you be up in your own office? On the fifth floor - spinning your evil schemes … staying the hell outta my way if you know what's good for you?'

'Oh sweetie - you're living in the past. Fifth floor office? That's so last year.' She hopped down from the desk and walked towards them. 'Wesley,' she nodded at her former lover - her smile ever so slightly prurient.

'Lilah,' he nodded back.

'So … if that's the past - what's the now?' Angel asked her.

'My position has been ... upgraded, shall we say. No longer do I run around doing the dirty work of our clients, or trying to drive _you_ insane. I work directly for The Senior Partners now. I'm your liaison. They speak - I deliver the message. You speak - I tell them what you're planning.'

'You're their spy.'

She grinned her shark's smile. 'Well I'm not really a spy if I'm upfront about it,' she whispered in his ear.

'And what would The Senior Partners say if I cut your head off and liaised it up to them on a plate?'

She threw back her head and laughed. 'You know what they'd say. I'm expendable. They'd send you another one … a considerably less friendly face.' She winked at Wesley. He tried not to react.

'So what do you get out of this, Lilah? Change in position - just the messenger boy? seems a comedown from golden girl of Special Projects,' Angel said to her. But she only laughed again. 'Our most special project is now CEO of the company,' she pointed out. 'Special Projects is over - done with. There's no scheme for me to run here, not with my brand new boss on board. But - with my new liaison role - I get lots of new perks … immortality for one. And let me tell you - when your employment contract extends beyond death and you're facing eternity serving The Senior Partners in hell - the ability to cling to this mortal coil until the end of time is no small sweetener.' She raised her eyebrow again, 'but I guess you'll all find that out - you're all locked in. The eternal mail-room of the underworld waits for us all.'

'So… what brings you to my office, this morning?' Angel asked her, through gritted teeth, 'what do The Senior Partners want me to know today?'

'They want me to explain it to you,' Lilah told him.

'It?'

'The catch, they want me to explain the catch to you so you don't spend the next six months standing around, scratching your head and wondering what the catch is.'

'So what is it?'

She walked around the three men in a circle, talking slowly to make sure they all understood. 'You are in charge of the Los Angeles branch of a multi-dimensional corporation. And it's that last word that's key. We are a business and we have a bottom line. Now - you can start at the top of our client list and hack your way down ... many of them are demons and almost all of them are evil. But once you've killed off our client base - you've killed off the firm.'

'And that's bad why?' Gunn asked her.

She smiled, a slow mocking smile. 'Because once you've destroyed the firm - you won't have it any more. Evil will pack its bags and go next door and all the gadgets and contacts and info … they all dry up. And you're left with nothing. Game over. See - to keep this business running - you're gonna have to keep this business running. And that means keeping our clients - most of them anyway - happy.'

'It means lettin' them get away with stuff,' Gunn said.

She smiled again. 'They were getting away with 'stuff' back when you were sat around your crumbling hotel waiting for the phone to ring. You had no reach there. But now you do - that's why you came. For the power and influence we offered you. But in order to keep it … you gotta keep those that pay the piper - our clients - happy.'

'I'm not here for power and influence,' Angel corrected her. 'I'm here because you own me.' He shrugged, 'why do I care if evil incorporated meets it's quarterly projections? Changes nothing for me.'

'Except you're throwing away your own power and influence, which you could use to help all those hopeless you're so fond of. We're letting you fight your fight - and we're giving you the resources to do it. You're not gonna throw a snit and refuse all that, now - are you? It'll only hurt the people you wanna save.'

'And The Senior Partners,' Angel pointed out.

But she shook her head. 'Come on.' She looked around at them smiling, 'this is a crazytime of fun. The most powerful evil around has given a pivotal position over to its sworn enemies. The whole universe is twitching, waiting to see just what you boys get up to next. So don't just stand here all day talking. Get down and dirty and do something.'

The men all looked at each other - and then looked at her. Their faces were blank. She sighed and took pity on them 'The client files are all in there.' She gestured to a small room of filing cabinets adjoined to Angel's office. 'You might want to start going through 'em.'

* * *

Cordy had met Doyle at the coffee shop and, styrofoam cups in hand, he was now leading her through the streets. 'Where are we going?' she laughed as he tugged on her hand and pulled her down the road. 'You'll see - just round here.'

Her eyes started to dart around suspiciously as she began to recognise their surroundings. 'Doyle…'

He pulled her round the corner and then came to a stop. 'Here it is.'

'Doyle … what?' she stared up at the familiar building, at the three little steps leading up to the wide doorway.

'In here,' he said, leading her up the steps and through the door. They walked down the corridor - so familiar and yet so strange - and then Doyle pushed open a door which, unlike the others, did not have a name painted on the frosted glass.

She stepped inside and looked around at the desk, the green couch, the side with the coffee maker on it and the big window through which she could see the inner office and, beyond that, the elevator. 'This is our old office,' she said, looking at Doyle.

'No,' he corrected, going over to the window and opening the blinds so the sunlight flooded in. 'This is our _new_ office. It just happens to be the same place as our old office.'

'But…' she looked around again.

'Listen, Cordy - we can't work out of your apartment. You were right when you said it doesn't look professional. We need some place we can meet clients. And I need a place o' my own to live. Not that I don't appreciate y' lettin' me crash…'

'You're gonna live in the bat cave?' She sat down on the sofa. 'How can we afford this?'

'Well it's a funny story,' he said to her. He sat down beside her and took her hand. 'Turns out that after they evicted us, the letting agents were never able to find another tenant. Karma - I guess. Rent's way down. They were desperate.'

'But still - the rent can't be nothing. Which is what we've got coming in right now. Big fat zero.'

'It'll work out,' he promised her.

She shook her head. 'I was thinking I should maybe get back into acting,' she said, dropping his hand and getting back to her feet.

'What?' he asked her looking astonished, '_why_? You hated that last commercial.'

'I did … but we need the money.'

He shook his head. 'Darlin' - we've always managed in the past. We'll manage now. I know it seems scary now that Angel's not here and we're the bosses - and success and failure rests on our shoulders alone … but Angel never did much to bring in clients. He did more to scare 'em off. You were always the business brains. And now you're the champion too. You can do all this - twice as good as Angel … but y' can't over extend y'self, love. You've had a big motherload of destiny hit you, right outta the blue. You got a lot to adjust to.' He leaned forward and fixed her with his most entreating stare. 'Please don't take on more than you can handle.'

But she shook her head and folded her arms and turned away from him. Not giving into the plea in his eyes. He had always been hopeless with money - he didn't understand. And he didn't understand the other stuff either. The slayer stuff. She was on her own there. 'Well what are our options Doyle?' she asked, her voice was snappish - frustrated. 'We need cash fast. So either I go back to making crappy commercials that leave me feeling cheap, or you go back to stealing cars and robbing banks. Because those are our options. That's all either of us can do besides _this_.' She gestured around the office to indicate what she meant.

Doyle looked away from her - and hung his head. 'I know you're scared, love…' he said, keeping his voice gentle and patient. 'I am too. But our best chance at success is to really work at this one thing. Not split our attention to lots o' little money making schemes.'

'Make a success of this,' she repeated.

'You've kept us afloat for four years, darlin',' he said, encouragingly, 'you can keep us going.'

'That was all I had to do back then,' she said. 'All I had to worry about. I didn't … I wasn't…'

'I know.'

'Well - if we're gonna do this then you need to get a vision _right now_ 'cause…'

BAM! Doyle's head slammed back as the vision pain crashed over him. He twitched, holding his hand to his head - watching the images swarm through his mind. He saw a man, youngish - wearing a suit. Graham Jenkins. He was afraid. Doyle couldn't see what was wrong, what the danger was … but one thing leapt out at him: Graham Jenkins was in trouble and he needed their help.

* * *

The team sat around in the conference room, slumped in chairs - Fred was actually laid out on the sofa, her feet up - resting on the arm. It was late at night and they were exhausted. Connor slept in a travel crib beside his dad, as Angel worked. 'This is unbelievable,' Angel said, poring over the files. They had been going through them for hours - and were still nowhere near done.

Over near the window Lorne was reading up on the Kennedy clan's history with the firm. Joe had tried to get out of his deal, but George senior had read the fine print … there was no one this company didn't have a piece of.

'How are we supposed to start making this right?' Angel asked despondently, throwing his file onto the table and not bothering to pick up another.

'Here's a winner,' Gunn said, still reading his file. 'Corbin Fries. On trial for smuggling Asian girls in for cheap labour and prostitution. Been charged with drugs, gun running... nothing stuck.'

Wesley grimaced, 'and that's one of our human clients,' he told the others.

'Looks like the trial isn't going too well this time,' Gunn said, still reading. Angel raised an eyebrow. 'Hmm - that's the first good news I've had all day.'

'You know…' Fred said slowly from the couch, her arm resting over her eyes. 'Whilst we're working out which of our clients we can smack down, we're gonna have to check the whole staff here. Make sure none of them are hard core evil doers who are plotting against us.'

'And here I was just worrying about the hard core evil doers we represent,' Wesley said.

Angel looked round at them, 'you know … it's late. We can carry this on tomorrow. You guys go get some sleep.'

'What about you?' Lorne asked him.

Angel glanced down at where his son was sleeping peacefully, no need to disturb him yet. 'Oh - I'll work for a little while longer - but you guys go, good night.'

'Night.'

'Good night Angel.'

'Good night.'

'Night Angel.' His four friends left the room - and Angel sighed and picked up the next folder.

* * *

Gunn walked into his dark office and picked up his jacket. When he turned around, Lilah was stood in the doorway. 'I always knew you were a creature of the night,' he said to her. She smiled and walked inside. 'The Senior Partners sent you to do some late night Liaising? Aint that the kind of thing you normally do with Wes?'

'Oh - my _Liaising_ with Wesley has got nothing to do with The Senior Partners,' she smirked. 'But tonight - my focus is you.'

'Not interested.'

'You will be. You were eager to join us - maybe the most eager. You were the one whose abilities were being the most squandered back at good old AI - and I think you knew that. The Seniors Partners certainly did.'

'And now they're gonna, what? Actuate my potential?'

Lilah's smile grew even broader. 'Already speaking the corporate lingo. You are ready for the next step!' She handed him a business card. He took it and read the name and address - it was for a doctor, one specialising in mystical upgrades. 'Have fun,' she said to him and then turned and walked out of the office. He followed her to the door. 'You'll feel like a new man,' she called back to him, as she crossed the dark lobby.

'What did she mean?'

Gunn jumped. Wesley was also stood in his own office doorway, right beside him - also watching Lilah walk away. Gunn wasn't sure … but he thought he detected a note of jealousy in the watcher's voice.

He glanced down at the doctor's business card again. 'Uh… tailor,' he told Wesley, 'guess I'm not dressed for success.'

* * *

Angel had gone to bed when Connor had woken up in the middle of the night. He'd carried his son upstairs, sung to him, read him a story book and then put him to sleep in his own bedroom in their penthouse suite. By the time he went to bed it was the early hours of the morning. And now he was back at his desk, again - the early morning rays beaming in at him. Corporate life was hard - and it was only his first week.

He picked up the package that he'd got through the mail, the day before. He still hadn't opened it. He didn't open it now, instead he moved it out of the way and got back to the files that were spread out across the desk's surface. This was too much. He needed a break. He looked at his phone, it was connected to all the other departments in the building - and to the front desk. He pressed a button - there was silence - the crackle of dead air down the line, and he spoke into the speaker. 'Uh - can I get a cup of coffee or something?'

A recorded voice came back to him. 'You have reached ritual sacrifices. For goats - press one. Or say 'goats'.'

Angel pressed a whole load of buttons and cut off the voice. Then he paused and tried again with a different button. 'Hello?'

'Hi this is Angel's office,' a sunny, young voice said over the intercom.

'This is Angel,' he told the voice.

'Noooo,' the voice said slowly, drawing the word out and sounding like it thought Angel was stupid, 'this is his new assistant.'

'No - this is Angel!'

'Are you sure?'

'Less and less. Can I get a cup of coffee… or if there's blood...'

'Oh sure - right away,' and the voice disappeared.

Angel pressed the button to hang up - but got the wrong one and was switched back to the previous line. 'To sacrifice a loved one or pet press the pound...' He jabbed at the button again - cutting the voice off and then stared at the phone in disgust. Then he shook his head and went back to his papers. So many papers. As he pored over them, the phone rang beside him, and he reached out and answered it cautiously. But it was only Wesley wanting to come in and see him.

Whilst he was on the phone, Angel's new assistant came into the room and handed him a mug of blood. He didn't look up as he accepted it and continued his conversation with Wesley, telling him to come on in. Then he hung up the phone, took a sip of his blood - and finally looked up at his assistant. He stared. 'Harmony.'

'Hey Boss!' she grinned at him.

'You're my secretary?' He didn't believe this.

'_Hello! _Assistant.' She sounded a little indignant at him getting her job title wrong.

'Explain why I shouldn't kill you.'

'Secretary's fine.'

He put his mug on the desk on got to his feet, pushing his chair back. 'No - it's not fine. Where is fine? You've been working here?'

'Yuh huh.'

'Why?'

She looked at him like he was stupid. 'Duh! I'm an undead gal trying to make it in the big city. I have to start somewhere. And they're evil here - they don't judge. Plus they've got that necro tempered glass…' she did a little dance in front of the window, 'no burning up. Great medical plan - and who needs dental more than us?'

'This is surreal,' Angel said, his head was spinning.

'Now - before you threaten to fire me…'

'I threatened to kill you.'

She backed up hastily, 'let's not quibble.' She kept on backing away. 'Before anything, just think—I'm strong, I'm quick, I'm incredibly sycophantic—if that means what that guy said—and I type like a superhero...if there was a superhero whose power was typing. And, hey, we keep the same hours. Creatures of the night…' she raised a fist as if in solidarity, 'unite.' He didn't smile. She dropped her fist and picked up the mug, handing it to him once more. 'How do you like your blood?'

'Tell me it's not…'

'It's pig!' she said quickly, 'I'm off human blood - totally not an issue.'

He sniffed the blood and then took a sip. 'It tastes…'

'Pretty good right?' she leaned forward, conspiratorially, 'the secret ingredient is otter,' she winked.

Just then Wesley knocked on the door and entered - with the news that one of their cases had become problematic. He nodded to Harmony, not seeming surprised to see her. Angel glanced between them, 'you knew she was…?' But it turned out Wesley was the one who had picked her from the steno pool. He had thought that a familiar face would be just the thing in a place like this. Angel shook his head. 'You turned evil a lot faster than I thought you would.'

'Nonsense,' Wesley smiled - then he asked Harmony to go and ask the men in his office to join them. She left, and Wesley filled Angel in on the case. 'Corbin Fries. The lowest piece of pond scum I've met in, oh, hours. He's about to get 20 years for kidnapping, pimping—'

'I saw the file,' Angel said.

'Yeah, well, personally, I think he deserves to be eaten by weasels, but he's hinting we'd best help him. Threatening, actually.'

The door opened and Harmony came back inside, ushering in two men - and introduced Mr. Fries to Angel. Fries did not seem impressed. The other man was his lawyer - and he shook Angel's hand and introduced himself as Desmond Keel.

'One of ours,' Wesley told Angel. Angel nodded. 'Nice to meet you.'

'I've heard - uh - things,' Keel said - following his client to go and sit on the sofa beneath the window. Harmony offered to get coffees … but Fries snorted in disgust. 'Oh, yeah, let's all chit-chat and have tea and crumpets 'cause I got so much time. Here's the skinny: Tomorrow the D.A. Puts my tit in a wringer for good and all, and that... does not stand with me. Butt-munch here,' He pointed his thumb at Keel. 'He got his law degree at dog training school, and the prosecution have got everything they've ever dreamed of.'

'Because you're guilty,' Angel pointed out.

'Of course I'm guilty. What the hell are you changin' the subject for? The point is, when Holland Manners was running things, this would've never got to trial. Now, I bring a lot of money into this firm, more than most, and I don't do that so I can be handed over to the frickin' law.' He pointed at Angel. 'You … gotta get me off.'

'It's strange my lack of incentive.'

'You think I give a ferret's anus about your new regime here? Yeah, I know who you are, and I care to the sum of zero. You're my lawyers. And if you don't do every last thing to keep me out of jail, you will regret it.'

'Well, we can't dance around this one,' Keel said, trying to calm his client. 'We're not in a position to have anyone killed.' He caught the look Angel and Wesley gave him. 'Not that we would,' he amended hastily. 'And the jury's - uh - tamper proof. Literally. I think one of the D.A.'s shamans has conjured a mystical shield around them.' He shook his head, 'they really beefed up their mojo ever since Holland Manner's former golden boy went to work for them.'

'Lindsey?' Angel said.

Keel nodded. 'MacDonald's trying the case. And he's ten times the lawyer anyone else over at the D.A's office is.'

'I imagine he learned a lot of tricks during his time here,' Wesley said drily.

'Yeah - and our tricks are no good if the other side know 'em. We hoped he wouldn't be around. He took off a week or so ago. No one knew where he was. But now he's back - ready for court. And since his chickadee died, he's really gunning for all the bad guys of this city.' He shook his head again, 'anyway - I have top men working on this case.'

'Who are doing Jack!' Fries yelled. 'I am not gonna be made an example of. Either you get me off tomorrow or…'

'I think you need to calm down,' Angel said - his own voice deadly calm.

Fries got to his feet and walked up to Angel, staring right into his face. 'To hell with calm. Either you get me off, or I drop the bomb.'

'Bomb?' Wesley asked. His voice did not sound as calm as Angel's.

'Let me put it this way: If they bring in a conviction, bye-bye, California. I say the magic word, the only people left standing are gonna be the ones that are already dead.'

Harmony sighed. 'Well that's a relief,' she said. Then she remembered who she was working for, now. 'I mean,' she stuttered, she pointed her finger angrily. '_Hey_!'


	3. Conviction: Part Two

_Part Two_

Doyle arrived back at the office, wriggled out of his jacket and then sat down on the green couch. Cordelia raised an eyebrow at him, 'well?' It was weird watching him sit on the couch - it was so exactly like it was four years ago, except everything was so completely different. There was a great aching void where Angel and Wes should be. And she … well she was completely different now, too. They had been through so much since last they had used these offices … and yet to look around it was as if no time had passed at all. The only thing denoting the passage of any time whatsoever was the date on the calendar - and her haircut. And yet, underneath it all, everything was different. The whole world.

'I found him,' Doyle said, 'spoke to him … he didn't want to know.'

'Didn't want to know? The higher powers send you a vision of this guy in immediate danger; unknowable, unseen gods take an interest in his personal peril - and he _doesn't want to know? _What did you say to him?'

Doyle leaned back on the sofa and rubbed his face. 'He was scared,' he said. 'I could tell that much. He knew somethin' was goin' down and he was too afraid to talk about it. Then he took a phone call - and pretty much ran out of the bar.'

...

Doyle had tracked Graham Jenkins down to a bar in the Fashion District, he'd sat at the bar himself - ordered himself a whisky, even though it was not yet noon, and got talking to the guy, casual like. He'd sipped at the whisky - wincing a little as the burn hit the back of his throat. He'd come a long way in the past few months, back with Cordy, he realised - not only did he not want to drink in the mornings, he wasn't even any good at any more. Thank God Cordelia had made him keep up to date with his hotwiring and lockpicking - or else who knows what other valuable skills he would have lost as he scrambled to become a more upstanding citizen?

Graham Jenkins had been nursing a beer of his own - staring at it morosely, reading the label … but not really.

'You know you've got y'self in trouble when y're in a place like this at this time o' the mornin',' Doyle had commented casually; taking another sip of his whisky and grimacing again. Why hadn't he thought to buy a beer? If he kept mugging off every time he took a drink, he'd blow his cover as a lowlife. How could _Doyle _blow his cover as a low life? It was barely a cover! How had it come to this?

Jenkins had grunted in response, not seeming to pay attention. 'Yep,' Doyle sighed - 'when the chips are down and you're at the end of y' rope … you come here - to drink away the pain… are you in any pain? By any chance?' he asked - his tone becoming even more casual.

Jenkins looked up at him. 'Pain? No. Trouble …' he gave a bitter laugh, 'yeah, I'm in plenty of that. I'm in so deep and I don't know how to get out.'

'I hear y'... what kind o' trouble?'

Jenkins eyes suddenly narrowed suspiciously. 'Why are you here?' This guy was asking an awful lot of questions. You didn't ask questions in a place like this - that was the point of a place like this. Something didn't sit right about this little Irish guy, in his loud shirt and leather jacket. Look at the way he was struggling to drink his whisky. This guy wasn't a day drinker. He was playing a role - no one would really wear a shirt like that - he was only pretending to be a down and out ... so he could keep tabs on Jenkins. Someone had sent him here. 'Who do you work for?' Jenkins demanded - though he was sure he already knew.

'What? Me? What?' Doyle opened his eyes wide and innocent. 'I'm getting drunk in a bar at 10:30 am - I don't work for no one, bud.'

'Yeah right - it was Flannigan sent you. Wasn't it? That son of a bitch is keeping tabs on me.'

'I don't know any Flannigan … why do you think he's followin' you?'

'You stay away from …' he slammed his beer down and tumbled backwards off his bar stool, stumbling back towards the door. The phone behind the counter began to ring, and the barman picked it up. He looked around the tavern, 'there a Graham Jenkins here?' he asked, covering the mouthpiece of the receiver with his left hand. Jenkins swallowed, audibly, and shot Doyle a dirty look. 'I'm Jenkins,' he said. The barman held the phone out to him, 'says he's your boss.'

Jenkins took the phone and again gulped nervously before answering. 'M-Mr Flannigan … hello.'

...

'So whatever trouble he's in - it's somehow linked to his boss, this Flannigan?' Cordelia said, once she had heard Doyle's tale.

'Yep - and Jenkins aint gonna talk, so I'm thinkin' we need to get into serious research mode. The old school, invade internet privacy kind, find out what Flannigan's deal is and how Jenkins is mixed up in it all and then … squish.'

'Squish?'

He nodded, 'presumin' there's somethin' to squish, yeah. Squish. Case closed.'

'So that's the plan? We research this guy, get into his life - find out what's going on … and then I go out and kill the big bad?'

Doyle looked at her in surprise. Her tone was … he wasn't quite sure how to interpret it but … annoyed? Unimpressed? He smiled at her, but it was an unsure and nervous smile, 'well, that has been our business model for the past four years, darlin' - yeah.'

'And what will you do whilst I'm killing?'

'Well I'll … I'll be there to back you up, you know I will.'

'Back up.'

He floundered - not sure where this was going. 'Well I already had the vision,' he said, sounding flustered, 'I did the recon, I'll do the research and - yeah - when the fight goes down I'll have your back. What else do y' want me to do?'

She ran her hand through her hair in frustration. 'Nothing. I don't want you to do anything ... God!'

'Cordelia,' he made his voice firmer, his tone less flustered and more determined, 'what's goin' on?'

'There's nothing going on!' she cried, 'there's probably a demon - I'm going to kill it. I'm a slayer. It's what I do.'

'Uhuh … it's what you've done for a long time before you were a slayer as well, princess. And you used to love it … But now… now this all seems to be a problem.'

'I used to love it because I chose it,' she replied through gritted teeth, as if he just wasn't getting it. 'I could walk away any time I wanted. Now I can't. Now _it's_ chosen _me_. And I'm trapped. I've got this destiny and all this responsibility. That's not me! That's Angel. That's Buffy. _Not me!_ But now I gotta do this thing 'cause there's no one else in the city out there to do it. And at the same time, I've got to balance the books and keep a roof over our heads.' She leaned back in her desk chair and folded her arms across her chest. 'This is a disaster,' she muttered to herself.

Doyle leaned forward on the sofa and looked at her, sympathetically. He changed his tone, when he spoke, so it was now gentle and patient. 'It's a big adjustment,' he said, 'you got a lot to cope with - more than is fair. I get it. I do.'

'What would you know about it?' She snapped at him. Her face was scornful.

He sighed. 'Look Cordelia, I'm tryin' to be supportive here. I'm going for the title of Most Supportive Boyfriend 2003 - and…' he tried to lighten the mood, 'I'm already workin' flat out holdin' down the Most Handsome Boyfriend 2003 title. It's a struggle.' It didn't even raise a smile. She just glared. He sighed again. 'Look, Cordy, I'm not a slayer - I know that. And you're right - I probably won't be much use in a fight to y' … I got your back, but you're stronger and faster than me, you got better reflexes and mystical warrior knowledge. The best I can offer is I'll always be there to smash stuff with my axe and if you need someone's neck breaking … I can snap mine back in place. But I do know a bit about the weight o' destiny - and everythin' I know, everythin' I've learned about it … it's yours. To share with you, to help you deal with this better, I'm here to listen to you when you need to talk and I'm here to give you advice if you ever want it. 'Cause I've been there, darlin' - where you are. I've been there and I've made it out the other side.'

She kept her arms folded tightly and made a small scoffing noise in the back of her throat. He prickled slightly under the sound of her disbelief, but he swallowed it down and fought to remain patient. He didn't want to get into a fight - though she was desperately trying to pick one. She wasn't deliberately being self-centred. She wasn't deliberately dismissing and undermining him. She was just lashing out because she was angry and frightened - and he, of all people, knew what that was like. He couldn't let her down, now, by getting angry back at her. If he did, it would just prove he hadn't really ever learned anything at all.

'It's true,' he said. 'Once upon a time I was a perfectly normal man - livin' in a world completely free o' magic and demons and prophecies and whatnot. The first I ever knew about monsters was the day I found out I was one. So yeah - life changing news? I get it. I do. And then I got sent the visions for the first time - saw an entire family slaughtered inside my head. And it turns out this wasn't a one off deal - this is my life now, I gotta withstand the mind numbing vision migraines on a regular basis and drop everythin' I'm doin' to go help someone out. There's no runnin' away from that. So yeah - sacred duty, I get it - I do. And as if bein' the personal messenger service of the higher powers wasn't enough for one unremarkable little man to handle, turns out I'm also the promised one - destined to save an entire people from The Scourge, the only one who could smash their beacon. A higher power _rewrote_ the whole of destiny to make sure it included me and I became a prophecied King in a demon dimension and the father of an evil god, the only one who could kill her and save the world from her evil regime. So yeah - weight of destiny. I get it. I do. You're scared - I get that. But you don't have to be. You're not alone in this.'

Her expression had changed slowly, as he had talked: going from furious and sullen to disbelieving to a look of realisation and then one that held no small amount of shame. 'I'm sorry,' she muttered, looking down - her cheeks were tinged with pink and she was biting her lip, not daring to look at him. 'I wasn't…I didn't… I'm sorry.'

'You don't have to be sorry,' he told her, 'You're goin' through a lot, right now. I don't expect y' to be thinkin' about me. God knows I wasn't thinkin' about anyone but myself back when I first found out I was a demon. I don't want you to apologise, or feel guilty, I just ... just don't shut me out, yeah? Don't go round thinkin' you gotta do all this alone. That's what I did - I ruined everythin'. I made a mess. I don't want you to have to go through all that. I don't wanna see you make all the same mistakes I did when, if you just let me, I can help y' avoid 'em all. I know where the pitfalls are - I _can_ lead you safely down this path. But I can't help you if you shut me out and go down the whole 'loner hero' route. '

She sniffed and tossed her head, her hair flicking from her face, she still didn't look at him, though. She stared out of the window instead. 'I just feel so alone,' she said, her teeth gritted once more.

'You're not alone. It's not like it was with Buffy,' he promised her, 'she was one girl in all the world. You're one of hundreds, thousands even. The weight of the world is not on your shoulders like it was on Buffy's. Nothin's really changed for you - you only have to do exactly what you were doin' before - but with nifty superpowers to help.' He got to his feet and walked over to where she was sitting. He crouched down in front of her chair so he could look up at her. She studiously avoided eye contact. 'Hey, look at me,' he said to her softly - his eyes searching out contact with her own. She finally did - and he smiled at her, warm and reassuring. 'You will never be alone, Cordelia, I promise you that - you will _always_ have me.'

She sniffed and nodded, and he reached up and kissed her, stroking her hair as he deepened the kiss. Then he pulled away so their lips were only an inch apart. 'We gotta start workin' this case,' he said, gently.

She sniffed again - and nodded again - and then they broke apart and got to work.

* * *

Lorne sat in the conference room with his feet up on the long conference table. There were a group of Wolfram and Hart employees nervously gathered around the other end. He glanced down at his evaluation form; it had the names of the employees listed and then the headings: OK, on the bubble, evil, to be fired and Yikes!

It had been going on a long time- he was on the Rs. He wished he could say it would be over soon but - God help him - he was working backwards up the alphabet. 'OK …' he looked them over - they all shifted and looked uncomfortable. 'Well, we all know why we're here so why don't we get started. Cindy Rabinowitz?'

A middle aged lady over to the left opened her mouth and started to sing - a little off key. '_There once was a woman who loved a man…'_

* * *

'So… he can read your mind?' Knox asked. He and Fred were up in her office - overlooking the lab. He was helping her unpack, move her things in and make it look more homey. 'Oh, while you're singing,' Fred said. She was reaching up, pinning a poster to the wall. 'He can sort of feel out your aura, your future. It should help us weed out the, you know, most evilest,' She glanced up at him, 'which I'm sure you're not,' she blushed.

'Hey, I'll go and warble away up there right now,' he assured her. 'I want you feeling a hundred percent secure running this lab.'

She frowned, as she tacked one side of the poster and tried to level the top out before sticking the next tack. She didn't think she was ever going to feel secure up here. It wasn't just the evil - she just wasn't the running things, take charge type. She was more the running away from things type.

Knox stopped what he was doing and gazed over at her, giving her his warmest, shyest smile. 'Why do I have trouble believing that?'

The phone began to ring. 'Maybe you're just not very bright,' Fred said to him, before she picked up the receiver. 'Hi, this is Fred.' She suddenly remembered her new position and the weight and importance of that - it should be reflected in the way she answered the phone. It could be somebody serious and professional on the other end - she needed to sound serious and professional as well. 'I mean, Practical Science Department,' she corrected herself, but then struggled to work out how to introduce herself in a professional way. 'this is the head...Fred.' Well that sounded stupid. She blushed - feeling Knox's eyes on her as she failed to even answer the phone properly and internally kicked herself. 'How may I help you?' She finished up - just wanting this to be over.

* * *

The team gathered inside Angel's office - except for Gunn. They'd paged him three times. He wasn't answering and they had no idea where he was. And Doyle and Cordy of course - they weren't there. They weren't part of the team anymore… or maybe they were still the team and it was the rest of them who were on the outs. Either way - it still didn't feel right, not having them in the group. But - they had bigger problems to worry about right now.

'Blow everybody up?' Fred asked, once she'd heard the worrying development of the Fries case. Angel clarified. Fries had said 'drop the bomb'- they weren't entirely sure what he meant by that.

'We very nearly found out,' Wesley said.

Angel looked annoyed. 'What? Am I not allowed to hit people now?'

'Not people who can commit genocide, no.'

'That's_ exactly_ the kind of person I should be allowed to hit!'

Lorne pulled them back in from their squabble - they didn't have time, they needed to know exactly where they stood. Wesley laid it out for them: they needed to find out about this bomb and disable it in case the jury came in with a conviction. There may be a mystical element to the device...

Angel nodded, 'Fries said 'I say the magic word'... he could mean exactly that.'

'Which is my department,' Wes confirmed. He also suspected that the bomb would not be an explosive. Fries was not the sort of man to risk his own life. There may be more magic involved.

'Or it could be a virus,' Fred suggested. 'Ebola kind of thing.'

'Right,' Angel said. 'The main thing is, any of this stuff could have come from right here. Keel, the lawyer, says he doesn't know anything - and I believe him.' He had good reason to - he could smell the fear coming off the man. They all nodded - accepting his assessment - and then Wesley began to give the orders. 'Fred, go through the lab records. See if Wolfram & Hart deals in viruses. Lorne, you're in the courtroom. Monitor the case. Let us know how it's going.'

'But lunch with Mary Kate!' The demon complained, 'she was gonna tell me all about Ashley's new piercing.' He sighed and got to his feet, just as Harmony came in to report that she still had no luck getting hold of Gunn. 'Oh and I got Spanky's address,' she said, handing a note over to Angel.

'Spanky?' Lorne asked.

'Freelance mystic,' Angel said, perusing the note and sticking it in his pocket. 'He shows up in Fries files a few times - I'm gonna do some legwork.'

Fred glanced towards the sun shining in through the necro tempered glass and twisted her mouth in confusion. 'Can you get there by sewer?'

'Not this time.'

* * *

He stepped out of his personal elevator and into the underground garage. Into his own personal motorpool. There were twelve of them, just like Lilah had promised, sleek and shiny. Vintage sports cars from every decade. He stared at them for a few silent moments. 'Oh god they're so beautiful!' he moaned at last, his voice filled with longing. He paced up and down unable to choose which he wanted - he was like a kid in a candy store - he wanted them all!

He finally decided - going for a bright yellow 1970s model - and opened the driver's door.

'Sir?'

He turned - a man had emerged from the shadows. He wrinkled his forehead, placing him. 'Hauser right?' the commando from the other night.

'We got word there's a floater you wanted brought in.'

Angel frowned and walked up to the commando. 'How exactly did you get that word?'

'That's my job sir,' he did not seem impressed by the implied menace of Angel getting in his face. 'Want him bringing in?'

'I'll take care of it,' he headed back to his precious … his car. His car.

'Traditionally my unit handles all of the wetwork,' Hauser said to him, trying to sound patient as he explained to the rookie, with more power than he knew what to do with, how things worked around here.

'I know you meant field work.'

Hauser gave a nod and a slight smirk. 'Of course.'

'I'll take care of it,' Angel said again. He opened the car door. 'Later on you can tell me all about tradition.'

* * *

'You got anything, yet?' Cordelia asked. She was sat on the green sofa working on her laptop. Doyle was on the desktop. She had the grand sum of zero squared - which was frustrating. She wanted to bury herself into the work to try and shut out the guilt and embarrassment she felt over being such a brat. She snuck a peek at Doyle, wondering if he was mad at her.

'Not much to go on,' he said absently, not looking up from his screen.

'Well I got nothing … coffee?' She wanted to try and make up to him for earlier. She put her computer down and walked across to the side. She hoped that, poor as they were, things wouldn't go back to the bad old days of using last week's coffee grounds. The coffee at the Hyperion had never been a luxury blend, but things had certainly improved since their agency had been in its infancy. Now they were several squares back, she was worried about what else would slide.

'There's not a whole lot here,' Doyle said, leaning back in his chair and pushing his hands through his hair - leaving it sticking up in every direction. She glanced across at him - he didn't look mad. He looked … deliciously rumpled, actually. Though that was no indicator of his mood.

'I've managed to have a look around, hack a few places: I got his address, date of birth, social security number, but nothin' that screams 'imminent danger',' he said

'What about his boss? Flannigan?' She asked. She placed his coffee on his desk and then perched beside it, twisting slightly so she could read his screen. He didn't frown or pull back from her proximity - and she took that as a good sign. She relaxed a little and took a sip of her drink. 'Anything on him?'

'Thanks Princess,' he picked up his own drink and took a sip, before shaking his head. 'Nope - the trouble with the mysterious Flannigan is exactly that. He's mysterious. I only got a last name. You got any idea how many Flannigan's there are in the city?'

She screwed up her face as she thought about it '… I could look in the phone book and check?'

It was Doyle's turn to think. 'Actually, that might not be a bad idea darlin' - would you mind?'

She put her cup down and slipped down from the desk, glad she could be helpful to make up for throwing such a hissy fit. 'I bet there's still one in Angel's old office,' she said crossing to the internal door between offices. 'It'll be a couple of years out of date but …' CRACK.

Doyle looked up in alarm.

'Dammit!' Cordelia was stood in the middle of the office - the door ripped off its hinges and dangling from her hand. 'Not again!'

'Did - uh - did the bad door do somethin' to upset y', darlin'?' he chuckled.

'I keep forgetting about my strength!' she told him. 'Doyle! Help!'

Still chuckling, he pushed back his chair and hurried across to her - taking hold of the door at either edge.

'How did Buffy ever put up with this?' Cordelia sighed in frustration. 'I hate it.' She couldn't help it. She didn't want things to be different - but they were. And here was proof. Doyle could tell her he would be there for her until the cows came home … but it was still only her hulksmashing her way through their home and office.

'Buffy got used to it - and you will too,' Doyle promised her. 'It's just another adjustment - but one day, soon, your super strength will just be a part of who y' are and you'll remember to allow for it whatever y' doin' - without even thinkin' about it. It'll come as naturally as breathin' - I promise.'

'Everything is such a big adjustment!' she complained, 'I'm fed up of adjusting.'

'Life is one big adjustment,' he said sagely. 'Here - I got it. I'll fix it later.'

'If I take as long as you to adjust it'll take 8 years and a bad drinking habit.'

'It won't take y' that long. You're a lot stronger than me.' They both stared at the door dangling from her right hand several inches above the floor. '... I meant you're stronger as in you're more emotionally resilient,' Doyle shuffled uncomfortably, 'you got that right?'

She sighed. 'Just take it off me.' She was so fed up of this - and it had only been a couple of weeks.

He tightened his grip and bent his knees as he took the full weight of the door - and Cordelia let go. He stumbled back a little bit. 'Though physical strength is also a factor,' he panted, 'a little help?'

She grabbed the edge closest to the handle and together they manoeuvred it so it was leaning against the wall. Doyle groaned with relief, once they'd put it down - and he stepped back dusting off his hands. 'It was the size o' it that was the problem,' he said, hurriedly. 'Not the weight. There was just,' he gestured at the door's dimensions, 'too much of it for me to carry comfortably.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'Well you are a tiny little man.'

'Hey!'

'I'm a walking disaster zone,' she sighed.

'No - you're a superhero. And that's good - we need a superhero. Y' just gotta learn to control y' powers and stop … bein' a walkin' disaster zone.' He smiled at her awkwardly.

'Gee thanks.'

His smile became less awkward and more warm and he reached out for her hand. 'You'll be fine,' he promised, 'and I will be with you every step o' the way.'

* * *

Angel checked the apartment number against the address Harmony had given him and then knocked on the door. It was opened by a middle aged man - probably in his fifties, but buff. Grey hair and big muscles. He was wearing a sweaty tank top. 'What do you want?' the man asked, looking Angel up and down.

'I'm from Wolfram and Hart. I'm here about a job.'

'Well then … get your butt in here.' He pulled the door wider and Angel crossed over the threshold. 'Pardon the sweaty,' the guy said, wrapping a towel round his neck, 'I was just working out.'

Angel looked around the apartment and stopped when he came to the far wall. He stared at it - it was covered in paddles and whips and bats. He turned his head to look at the guy. 'So - uh - why do they call you Spanky?'

Spanky smiled, amused. 'I'm a big 'Our Gang' fan.'

Angel nodded - keeping his face impassive. 'That's what I figured.'

Spanky poured himself a drink and then took a sip. 'Look, buddy, I'm gonna be up-front with you. I got nothing against people doing their thing. It's a wide and wonderful world, but...I don't spank men. It's not a judgement. Men have fine, firm asses. You've been to the web site, you know how much I work on mine. But when you said Wolfram & Hart, I assumed you were here about a mystical job.' He took another sip of his drink.

'I am,' Angel told him. 'The one you did for Corbin Fries.'

But Spanky refused to talk. He never divulged the particulars of old cases: mystic - client privilege.

Angel walked towards him, slowly, until he was right up in his face. 'You're going to tell me what you did for Mr. Fries. Now … or very soon from now.'

Spanky looked him up and down, appraising the threat - the danger Angel posed to him. Maybe he decided it was enough to be of concern - because he took another sip of his drink and told him what he knew. He'd built Corbin Fries a mystical container - you could put anything you want into it.

'Like - a bomb?' Angel asked.

'A bomb, a curse, a golden retriever. Anything. I don't know what he wanted it for. The vessel just holds it until the magic word dissolves the vessel.' He put down his drink.

'OK, then, where did you place the vessel?'

Spanky suddenly lunged at him, grabbing him from behind and wrapping his bulging arm tight around Angel's throat and squeezing. 'You know what I'm doing now? I'm applying pressure to your windpipe. You'll pass out, and then I'll let Mr. Fries decide if he wants you to wake up again.'

'Do you know what I'm doing now?' Angel asked in reply. 'Not using my windpipe.' He grabbed hold of Spanky's arm and twisted - throwing the mystic off him.

'Vampire,' Spanky realised.

'With a capital V,' he shoved Spanky away and then grabbed the cricket bat from the wall. 'And there's something you should know about me.' he swung the bat at Spanky, sending him flying across the room. 'I got no problem spanking men.'

* * *

Gunn sat in the waiting room. It was dark, the chairs were hard and the music was the awful, bland, piping tune normally found in elevators. He'd been here all day - and he could hear all manner of strange noises coming from inside the doctor's office; mechanical whirrings, grindings- and more worryingly, the occasional scream.

Eventually, the door opened and the doctor stepped out, carrying a file. 'Charles - Gunn?' he read from the file.

'Hold on a sec,' Gunn said to him, keeping his eyes on his magazine. 'This is deep stuff. Looks like Demi might be breaking up with Emillio.'

'I'm afraid the magazines are a little out of date.'

'Then don't keep people waiting here for five hours.' He put the magazine down and got to his feet, looking annoyed. But the doctor only laughed at his brusque demeanour - a smug little snigger - through a wide Cheshire cat grin - and led him into the office. 'Not nervous are we?' he asked.

Gunn stopped in the door and stared around at the gadgets; the dentist's chair in the middle; what looked like a buzz saw. 'No. Definitely past nervous here.'

'So … I understand you were in the whiteroom. Spoke with the conduit himself.' The doctor smiled the whole time - but it was a sinister smile. There was something about his mannerisms that made Gunn think of Larry Olivier in The Marathon Man … with shades of Steve Martin in the Little Shop of Horrors … but maybe _that_ was just the high necked, white smock … no - it was it definitely the gleeful sadism in that smile. He stiffened himself and glared at the doctor, who was happily preparing his torture implements. 'That's between me and the big cat. We gonna do this thing or what?'

'By all means. Please … remove your shirt.'

* * *

'Flannigan Flannigan…' Cordelia said. She had the phone book open on her knee and was flipping through the Fs. She found what she was looking for and began to run her finger down the list.

'Learned anythin'?'

'There are too many Irishmen in this city.'

Doyle gave her a dark look.

'There's a lot of people called Flannigan,' she explained to him, 'any way to narrow this down?'

'The bar was in the Fashion District,' Doyle mused, 'and Flannigan knew Jenkins was there. And if Jenkins works for this guy …'

'Then maybe he wasn't too far away?' Cordelia finished up, 'got it,' she scanned the addresses. 'Here's something,' she lifted the phone book and took it over to show her boyfriend. 'S. Flannigan - has an address at East Eighth Street - right where it meets Towne Avenue… only Flannigan in the area.'

'I'll look him up,' Doyle stretched out his arms and flexed his fingers before starting to type. 'OK - got it - Seamus Flannigan rents a small office above a distributin' warehouse.'

'What's his company?'

Doyle peered more closely at the screen and clicked a few more times. 'Oh - uh - I wasn't expectin' that. He's a talent scout. Runs a modellin' agency.'

'Above a distributing warehouse?'

'I guess good office space is hard to find in the city … hang on a minute.' He began to type again, his fingers flying furiously across the keyboard. 'Uhuh - I see … the business is in trouble. Seriously in the Red. Not had any bookin's in months … not a lot of models on the rosta. They keep leavin'.'

'Did you just break into his company's records and accounts?'

'Yeah.'

She nodded. 'Good… so, we know Flannigan's in the red and Jenkins is in deep trouble. What else we got?'

'OK … well … there's been a couple o' transactions recently that look interestin'.'

'To who?'

'Some People called 'The Black Tomorrow'.'

Cordelia snorted disparagingly. 'Well, that's a lame name right there.' But Doyle was already looking them up online. There was a hit and after a moment the screen changed and Doyle stared at the new information he was being shown. 'Oh wow,' he murmured.

'Did you find anything? Do we know something?'

'Yep…' he replied, still staring. 'We know plenty.'

* * *

Fred and Knox were sat on the floor of her office, papers were strewn all around them and they were going through them all - desperately searching for … something. 'Oh. OK. This could be bad,' Knox said, reading the file in his hand.

'Bad what? How? Why? Where?'

'We did some work with Fries on illegal pesticides,' Knox told her, still reading, 'rodent killers, but this guy - Lopez…' he got to his feet and went to sit at Fred's computer.

'The lab technician?' Fred asked. Knox nodded, 'yeah - but I don't know him.' He began to search for Lopez on the company's database. There was a beep and Lopez' file came up. 'Oh, OK, he was fired.' Then he squinted at the screen. 'Oh no,' he corrected his mistake, 'I'm sorry. He was set _on _fire.'

'That's interesting,' Fred came over to stand beside him and read the screen over his shoulder. 'For working with Fries?'

'Maybe under the table,' he scrolled through the file, 'there's a link under his name.' He clicked and a website popped up. 'A cult.'

'The Black Tomorrow,' Fred read, 'oh thrills.'

'I think you were right, boss,' Knox said to her, still reading the screen - looking through the cult's website. 'These guys specialise in quick-fire disease scenarios: sarin gases and viruses.'

Fred began to back away from the computer - away from Knox. 'which you all helped build,' she said, knocking against the wall and having nowhere else left to go. Knox twisted his head to look at her. 'Hey, no!' he sought to assure her, 'we've contained more plagues than we've ever designed.' He shrugged. 'It's not all about destruction here.'

The phone began to ring and - still looking distrustful - Fred snatched it up. 'Department of - Fred - Angel,' she listened to what he had to say. She nodded, 'yeah, it looks like our client may be playing with a virus. Spread by touch or maybe even airborne.'

...

'That's the bomb?' Angel was still in Spanky's apartment. The man lay on the floor, unconscious, and the room was in severe disarray. It had not taken a lot to get him to talk. But the rest the guy had had coming.

...

'Safe guess,' Fred told him. 'So did you find out where he put it?' There was no answer. She frowned down the phone. 'Angel?'

...

Angel stared at the unconscious man. 'Yeah,' he said through gritted teeth, 'I found where he put it.'

* * *

Matt twisted in his seat to whisper to the girl behind him. 'Mathew Fries!' the teacher caught him and chided him for talking. 'Do you want to spend the rest of this class in the corner?'


	4. Conviction: Part Three

_Part Three_

Gunn sat in the dentist's chair - cathodes and anodes were stuck to his skin and he was attached to all manner of wires, able to feel the electric charge that was zooming through them and flooding into his body. His eyes were wide and his pupils were dilated. His whole body quivered as the charge surged into him and he was unable to stop himself from groaning and grunting in pain.

The doctor was stood above him and Gunn could not get a good look at what it was he was doing - but from the whirring noise it sounded like he was using some kind of electric drill. Then the whirring noise stopped. The doctor put it down and picked up a cup with a straw sticking out from it, offering it to Gunn.

Gunn took the straw into his mouth and began to suck thirstily, desperately. 'Uh uh uh,' the doctor shook his head, 'slowly, slowly.' Gunn drank a bit more and then dropped the straw from between his teeth. He was still gasping and panting. 'Do you want to stop?' the doctor asked him - still with the Cheshire cat grin, his tone was more sly than kindly.

'Are we finished?' Gunn asked him.

'Not quite yet.'

'Then shut up and do it.'

The doctor shrugged and picked up the drill, once more. The whirring sound started up again.

* * *

Doyle continued to scroll down the website. Cordelia had moved round the desk so she was stood reading the screen over his shoulder. 'OK, this cult,' Doyle read, 'The Black Tomorrow - they're pretty powerful. They work in diseases - viruses mostly - they spread plagues around for cash, from what I can tell.'

'That's friendly of them,' Cordelia said, raising an eyebrow, 'but - they sound human. Are they human?'

'I think so - yeah.'

She wrinkled her brow, 'so where does their power come from? I mean - if they're a cult they don't sound like a bunch of scientists in a lab. They sound mystical. It's very rare you get a cult of scientists. Cults like to worship things - kinda their raison d'etre.'

'Y' not wrong there, darlin'...' he clicked the mouse a few more times, following links through to different pages. 'Oh - OK - here's somethin'. Real small but …' he squinted at the screen. 'Says 'Power to Lord Morbus, the Many Headed King of Death, and Power to those that serve him.'.. It's kinda like the fine print - right at the bottom of the page.' He pointed to the screen, Cordelia leaned forward and peered at the tiny writing. 'Oh yeah, it's practically a footnote.'

'Well they probably don't like to advertise the source o' their power, in case people get ideas and try to - you know - squish their power source. But at the same time, they're probably legally obliged to mention it … y'know in an underworld demon contract kinda way.'

'Right - so Lord Morbus, Many Headed King Of Death - let's look him up.'

Doyle opened up a new window and went to the Demons Demons Demons database, typing 'Morbus' into the search bar. There was a beep and then a picture of the Many Headed King of Death popped up. Cordelia winced. 'I don't wanna have to fight him,' she said. The 'Many Headed' claim was not false advertising - Morbus was a large demon with giant serpent heads sprouting from its neck - lots of them. And each snake head was covered in pustules and boils and buboes.

'It's a plague demon,' Doyle said.

'Yeah - I got that from the … plague pictures.'

'Lives in the netherworld but for a reasonable fee will come up to this plane of existence and smite your enemies - nasty lookin' stuff: small pox, bubonic plague, ebola - you name it, he'll do it. He's served by his acolytes - The Black Tomorrow - who act as his emissaries and gobetweens to people who wanna use his services. They deliver the virus, or whatever, from Morbus to the client - and deliver the sacrifice back in kind.'

'The sacrifice?'

'That's what it says.'

'Is that the cash Flannigan has been paying them?' Cordelia asked. Doyle looked thoughtful, and shook his head. 'Not many self respectin' Lords of the Underworld are generally workin' for cash,' he mused. 'A sacrifice is usually a human soul … I bet it's the human acolytes that are takin' the cash. You know - like commission.'

'So … Flannigan has been paying The Black Tomorrow to smite his enemies with diseases and stuff. Why would he do that? His company's in the red - you'd think he'd be conserving that cash - not paying a cult to do a hit for him. You think Jenkins is his target?'

'Actually …. I'm wonderin' if Jenkins isn't his sacrifice,' Doyle said. 'Anyway - there's an address for The Black Tomorrow. They run out of a warehouse in the meat packin' district.'

'Then maybe I should go check it out?'

'That's what I'm thinkin' - yeah… except I'm gonna change that 'I' to a 'we'.'

Cordelia glanced down at him. 'I can do recon by myself. I'm a big girl - I've got superpowers and everything. I can check this out - kill the bad guy, if he's around. We go for brunch.'

'Or the bad guy kills you,' Doyle pointed out. 'I know you _can_ take care of yourself, darlin' - but the point is you don't have to. And it's always safer to have backup. We both run this agency - so we both go.' And he wasn't going to listen to any arguing on the subject.

* * *

Fred crossed the lobby on the way to her lab, it was dark - night had fallen - but there was miles to go before she could sleep. They were having no luck identifying the virus and she was out of ideas. 'You got anything, Fred?'

She turned. Wes was stood in the doorway to his office, watching her. She shook her head. 'I'm not sure. We've isolated a few strains which Fries might have had access to.'

'Any antidote?'

But she shook her head. The antidote - assuming there was one - probably died with the lab technician who had given Fries the virus in the first place. There were no records of him developing the disease in the lab, no notes of his, no workings or record of experimentation. If Lopez had created this disease himself then he had hidden every record of it well away from Wolfram and Hart. And since he had been set on fire - there would be no finding it. And without knowing what they were working with, there was no way of developing an antidote.

'Fries must be immune to this disease,' Wesley said to her. 'There has to be an -'

'We're not even sure what strain it is,' she snapped. 'I'm trying, Wesley.'

'I'm not doing much better,' he admitted. 'I can't disable the trigger without knowing the magic word. Short of killing Fries, I…'

'That could trigger it too,' Fred pointed out.

'I know.' They stared at each other, through the gloom, feeling the despair. Wesley sighed, 'back to our respective grindstones, I suppose.'

Fred nodded - and then glanced across the lobby to Angel's office. She could see him through the window. He was sat in there with Connor, on the floor. Connor was playing and Angel was … sort of playing with him. More listlessly handing him toys. Fred frowned in worry. 'He gonna be OK?'

'He's taking this very personally,' Wesley said. His voice was low and he too kept his eyes trained on the man and the baby. Particularly on the baby.

'It's this place,' Fred said, looking around the darkened, cavernous, empty lobby. 'It gets to you.'

* * *

Connor held his little hand out. 'Train.'

'Train.' Angel handed it across to him. 'Choo choo,' he said as an afterthought - but his voice was a monotone.

'Choo choo,' Connor giggled, pushing the train around. 'Choo choo.'

Lilah appeared in the office doorway. 'Rough day at work?' she asked, smirking down at the vampire. Angel twisted to look at her. 'He put it in his son,' he said, heavily. 'Fries took a lethal virus and he put it in his son.'

'And that got you where you live, huh? I hear Spanky got a taste of his own medicine today.'

'He had it coming,' Angel shrugged. 'The magic word dissolves the container - he did the mojo that turned a little boy's heart into a container. Doesn't matter that he didn't know what Fries was gonna put in there. He knew the boy wouldn't survive the magic word being spoken. He did it anyway. He had it coming.'

'Maybe you're being too hard on him?' She suggested, tilting her head to get a better look at him - and his despondency. 'Fries is a very dangerous man. Very powerful. Not many wouldn't jump to do exactly what he told them… you're hoping to keep him out of jail, aren't you?' She shrugged, 'I don't see how that's any different.'

'I'm not helping him endanger his own child for his own benefit - Spanky did exactly that.'

'No - you're helping him endanger, kidnap and assault scores of Asian girls. You keep him out of jail and his racket keeps on spinning. Dozens of innocent girls - hundreds over the years - will be brought to America and pimped out until they're used up. But you won't see that. So you don't have to think about it.' She gave a dark, little laugh. 'Be honest - you didn't even give them a second thought did you? You were too busy feeling the danger to the little boy. Too busy putting Connor in his place - to take time to empathise with a few dozen faceless girls half a world away. You're just as willing to let Fries do as he pleases, if it doesn't hurt you - no different from Spanky.'

'If we don't keep Fries out of jail, then the whole of California will be killed in a pandemic event that will make the black death look like a case of the sniffles.'

'Right,' Lilah walked inside and perched on his desk. She raised an eyebrow at him. 'So the suffering, rape and deaths of those Asian girls are acceptable collateral in the cause of keeping Californians healthy… you know that kinda sounds like the world order Jasmine was pushing - the one you rejected so thoroughly - some sacrifice for the benefit of the many.'

'I didn't say that,' Angel snapped. 'I didn't say I wouldn't find a way to stop Fries - I said we need to keep him out of jail. We need to find the boy, isolate him - and then we can deal with Fries.'

'What will you do?' Lilah asked, her tone was wicked - she was enjoying this. 'He's human - are you going to kill him?'

Angel didn't answer, he just looked down at Connor - playing with his trains. Lilah smiled. 'Welcome to the dark side, champ,' she said. 'You've had it easy, all those years at the hotel, fighting the good fight, helping the hopeless. You were too small - too focused on your own path - that you didn't look up and see the bigger picture. Didn't see just how complicated the good fight is. There's always going to have to be losers. And sometimes those losers are innocent people - and you have to weigh the costs against the benefits. Now you're in the big leagues, you can actually see how those scales balance. You can't pretend you're doing the right thing - because you saved the damsel in the alleyway - and ignore the butterfly effect that your actions cause. From up here - you see the ripples - every last one. And you've gotta make the call, who to save - and who to sacrifice. You get Fries off … you condemn the girls trapped in his slave trade. You let him go to jail - and everyone in California dies, starting with little Matthew Fries. If you're really a champion - you'll make the call, and you'll accept the consequences, look 'em in the eye and admit you sacrificed those Asian girls because their lives didn't stack up to the entire population of the golden state.'

'Is that why you brought me here Lilah?' Angel asked heavily, 'to make me look at everything I've ever tried to achieve and admit it wasn't worth a damn? I wasn't really making a difference? That for every soul I saved there was another one lost to balance it out somewhere?'

'No,' she got back to her feet. 'We brought you here because you signed your life away to us, and we wanted to collect. What lessons you learn while you're here is entirely your own affair, Dorothy.'

'But it's true isn't it? Sometimes there is no winning - and sometimes you have to make the call as to who loses, even when it won't be you that pays the price. The higher you rise - the more often you're the one making that call.'

'And now you're the CEO of Wolfram and Hart - that's rising pretty damn high.'

'So how do I do it?' He asked. 'How do I keep making those calls - and still live with myself?'

'Well … that's one of the things you're gonna have to figure out, champ. Find a way to keep on making the hard decisions and still be able to look at yourself in the mirror.' Then she threw back her head and laughed, 'oh wait - that one isn't a problem for you, is it?' Her tone became more serious again. 'But let me tell you, you need to figure this out soon, because if you let every case hit you this hard - you're not gonna last a week.'

* * *

The lab was a mess - the technicians had been working flat out for hours. There were glossy photos - showing the horrifying symptoms and side effects of some of the most horrendous diseases - strewn around the work benches. There were also empty cartons of Chinese takeout and chopsticks adding to the debris. There was a heavy, stuffy air to the atmosphere - people trapped here too long, working too hard - not getting to leave, and no end in sight.

Knox sat at the workbench and peered down the microscope at the current strain they were investigating, trying to identify it. Fred walked up behind him and he stopped what he was doing to talk to her. 'I'd say we're looking at some kind of retrovirus,' he told her, 'spread by touch. Some derivation of the Phonaya strain.'

'Are you sure?' she asked.

He shrugged - they'd need a couple more tests to be positive.

'Well - are you running them?'

'I'll get someone on it.'

'Don't get someone on it, have someone on it!' she snapped. 'Did we build this thing? Do we have an antidote? Do - do we have an antidote department? Do you ever do anything besides pretending you're running an evil radioshack?'

She looked around her and raised her voice so she was speaking to the whole department. Every technician stopped what they were doing and turned to listen to her. 'Y'all are tired,' she said to them, 'I know,' - she was exhausted herself. She felt completely drained, frazzled to the very edges and it was getting far too hot in this lab. It didn't matter.

'I just want you to understand that in a few hours a virus is gonna start spreading through this city that will kill every person in it.' She made her voice harder and louder. 'And when blood starts streaming out our noses, eye sockets and fingernails, I'll have the _intense_ satisfaction of knowing that I'm dying with the only people in the world who actually deserve it. Now focus people!' she stamped back up the stairs to her office. 'Work the damn problem!' she yelled, before slamming her office door.

Knox raised an eyebrow. 'You're the boss,' he muttered - and turned back to the microscope.

* * *

'Up here - this way,' the stillness of the warehouse was interrupted by Cordelia hissing her instructions. Then a window, high up near the ceiling, creaked open - and Cordy appeared, wriggling through the gap. She landed on the walkway that ran around the edge of the warehouse and peered around. Behind her, Doyle's hand appeared on the window ledge, his knuckles turning white as he gripped on as tightly as he could. 'Ah - Cordy - little help,' he whispered - his voice had a definite edge of panic to it.

She turned back to look - saw he had not managed to pull himself up through the window - and rolled her eyes. She wrapped her hand around his wrist to hold him place and then stuck her head back through the window to look at him. '_What _are you doing?'

'Well, I just thought dangling here from a great height for a while would enhance my experience this evenin' … what d'y' think I'm doin'? I'm stuck!'

'How?'

'I couldn't reach the window from the top o' the fire escape. I had to jump. But funnily enough there's not any toeholds in the side of a sheer brick wall. I can't climb up - and the gap in the window's not big enough for me to just pull myself up and get inside. I need to bend to get in. And I don't bend that way, darlin'. Pull me up!'

Grumbling, Cordelia reached through the open window and grabbed the back of Doyle's shirt, hauling him inside. He slithered through the gap head first and then tumbled out onto the walkway. He stood up, bushing himself down. 'Thanks, Princess, couldn't have done it without y'.'

She rolled her eyes again and crept down the catwalk, headed for the stairs which led to the main floor of the warehouse. 'You know it would have been a lot quicker and quieter if I'd come here alone,' she hissed.

'Quicker and quieter - but not safer.'

'I don't know, I think your little Spiderman performance gone wrong has just alerted everyone in a twenty block radius that we're breaking in here.'

'Ah - relax - I'm a pro at breaking and entering … literally. Besides, this place is empty.'

They stood on the stairs and gazed around the wide space, it did indeed seem empty. It was a strange place: part office, part science lab, part temple … all inside a former meatpacking warehouse. The huge meathooks still hung from the ceiling, wafting ever so slightly in the almost non-existent breeze. It was an eerie place.

There were computers set up around the walls, lots of them, and printers and filing cabinets and even a photocopier. They looked strangely incongruous in the wide industrial space, with the meat hooks hanging overhead. Near the back was what looked like a makeshift laboratory - a workbench with beakers and Bunser burners, test tubes and petri dishes. And along the back wall was a row of large industrial style fridges. 'Probably for keepin' the diseases fresh,' Doyle said, nodding at them.

In the middle of the room there was what was unmistakably a shrine. There was a statue that was, unfortunately, only too recognisable as Lord Morbus. The sculptor had really gone to town on the pustules. The statue was surrounded by black candles - some were still burning, suggesting that - as deserted as this place seemed - it couldn't have been that long since someone was last here. Most, though, had burned out. The wax had melted and run down the candles and then solidified in a bumpy, uneven mess whose effect was not unlike the pustules on the many heads of the statue. Diseased looking candles to worship a diseased God.

All the windows of the warehouse were small and high up, like the one Doyle and Cordy had climbed through - and so the walls on the lower level were completely solid and reached up high - and every inch of them was daubed with the same symbol over and over again. It was a staff with spread wings at the base. Two snakes were wrapped around the length of the pole, their tails at the top and their heads meeting just above the wings. Every symbol was painted red - and Cordy had a sinking feeling they were daubed in blood, not paint.

'What is that?' she asked, staring round at the staff - painted again and again and again.

Doyle tilted his head to the side. 'It's a caduceus,' he said, 'but it's upside down.'

'What's a … whatever you just said?'

'Caduceus.'

'_gesundheit_.'

Doyle smiled. 'It's the symbol of medicine in America - doctors and vets. Typical of you lot, it's the wrong symbol. The caduceus is the rod of Hermes, the messenger God. The doctor's symbol is supposed to be the rod of Aesclepius. The _actual _God of healing.' He noticed Cordelia staring at him, smiling. 'What?'

'Check out you with the book knowledge, Mr. I didn't listen in school.'

'I didn't listen in school. But we did Greek myths and Gods back when I was a teacher. I taught it.'

'Huh … but you said the ca… cad … the symbol was upside down?'

'It is - wings are meant to be at the top.'

'So… why is it like that?'

Doyle thought about it, he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around at all the upside down symbols. 'I guess if Morbus is a plague demon - and the caduceus is the symbol of healing - then _inverting_ it is the symbol o' plague. Like - when Satanist churches use the upside down cross as their symbol. It's deliberate blasphemy.' He noticed Cordelia still looking at him. 'What?' he asked again.

'You really are smart, you know that?'

He looked pleased - and surprised - by her praise. 'Well, I try,' he said modestly, blushing.

'It's kinda sexy,' she told him. He blushed even deeper and looked even more pleased. 'Well, I…'

They both went still and quiet when they heard a sudden fumbling, furtive noise coming from the lower floor. It was the sound of someone inexpertly breaking into something and trying to be very quiet about it. 'There's someone down there,' Doyle whispered, nodding towards the source of the noise.

'Stay behind me,' Cordelia whispered back - and she led the way down the stairs and out onto the warehouse floor. They crept round the computers and past the shrine until they saw a man with his back to them, rifling through a filing cabinet. The man stopped, when he felt the beam of their flashlights fall on him - he straightened up and turned around.

'Jenkins!' Doyle said, in surprise, recognising the frightened man from his vision.

'This is Jenkins?' Cordelia asked, 'what is he doing here?' she turned to look at Jenkins and repeated the question, 'what are _you_ doing here?'

'You!' Jenkin stared at Doyle, alarmed and annoyed. 'You're the guy from this morning. Flannigan's stooge. I knew you were following me.'

'I'm not…'

'Well I've got a message for Flannigan. He aint gonna use me, I'm not gonna let him use me -' he fumbled inside his jacket pocket, 'and you're not gonna stop me.' He pulled out a gun and levelled it at the two of them.

* * *

Wesley put down his file and crossed the room to find another one. He stood at the filing cabinet, his back to the door, and flipped through the records - looking for the one he needed. He muttered a little under his breath, as he did.

'Talking to yourself?'

He straightened up and turned around. Lilah was standing in the doorway, leaning on the frame, her arms folded, smiling at him. 'You know they say that's the first sign of madness.'

'Lilah,' he said, quietly.

'How's it going?' she pushed herself away from the door frame and walked inside the office, nodding at the pile of folders and papers to indicate what she was talking about.

'It's… it's late. I've looked through every record on Spanky that we have - there's nothing to tell me how to undo his work without having access to the failsafe. Only Fries knows that.' He rubbed his face with his hands. 'We need to isolate the boy,' he admitted. 'There's no guarantee we'll find a way to deactivate the magic that has turned him into a mystical container and if we can't stop the spell, and we can't find an antidote, and we can't stop a guilty verdict coming in from Fries…'

'Then the best you can do is quarantine the kid and let him die.'

Wesley looked pained. 'Obviously we don't want that to happen. We will keep looking for a way to save him. Which is why - even though it's late and I'm falling asleep on my feet and my eyes actually hurt with the strain of all the reading … I'm keeping going. Now - if you'll excuse me...' He turned back to searching for his file.

'My hero,' Lilah smiled, watching him. 'My Wesley.'

He stiffened up again at her words.

'You know,' she told him, 'under the old regime - we would have weighed up everything that was in the balance here and come to the conclusion that isolating the boy and letting him die was the best outcome.'

'You're talking about letting an innocent child die,' Wesley said, his voice was very low.

'A lot more than one innocent child will die if Fries makes good on his word. Connor. To name but one. If you quarantine that boy now, Fries can go to jail - his illegal slave trafficking racket can be shut down and nobody dies in a pandemic. I admit I'm not up on the good guy code but… that seems like a win to me.'

'I imagine it does…' he found the file he was looking for and took it over to the others, sitting back down and starting to read. 'But as you say - you're not overly familiar with the good guy code.'

'Right the good guy code means letting Fries get off.'

'So he doesn't commit genocide.'

Lilah laughed, 'that sounds an awful lot like negotiating with terrorists when you put it that way.'

'I suppose it does, but we can only take the problems one step at a time - as we find them. And right now we have to stop a pandemic … and save little Mathew Fries.'

'The trouble with one step at a time - is that it creates more problems down the line. And then you stop those one step at a time and … do you see where I'm going with this? The picture is far bigger than you've ever had to realise before - and from here you can see a whole lot more of it than you could at the Hyperion. You're going to have to start making compromises - sacrifices. You're in the grey area now.'

He looked her in the eye. 'I've been in the grey area for a long time now, Lilah - you know that. '

But she only laughed again. 'Oh, Wesley. My Wesley. You barely even dipped a toe before now … and then in one fell swoop you and all your friends took the plunge - and now you're all in the ... shade. Together.'

'You once told me that once you mixed black with white you got grey - and no matter how much white you tried to put back in, you'd never get anything but more grey,' Wesley said.

'I did - I was right. Right now you baulk at the idea of letting one boy die to save millions. But where do you think you and your friends will be this time next year?'

Wesley looked up at her. He was quiet for a long moment - and still. 'Is there a particular reason you're here, Lilah?' he asked her, his voice was curt.

'Maybe I just wanted to see you.'

'And maybe you just wanted to report back to The Senior Partners how we were getting along. It's late, Lilah - I have work to do. I don't have the time for a discussion on morality, ethics and the pure whiteness of my soul. So if you'll excuse me... '

'Try looking in the Ashnanurak Compendium,' Lilah said, smiling. 'It's a 17th century text compiling earlier sources - the best known collection of writings on transfiguration and enchantments - particularly pertaining to organic matter. You might have more luck finding a way to undo the spell, in there, than you will in Spanky's bank records.' She turned to go. 'It's in our library,' she told him. 'But even if you find the right passage - it will take days to break the enchantment. And Fries verdict comes in tomorrow morning. It's time to embrace the grey, Wesley - and find alternative means.'

* * *

'Oh woah - Hey' Doyle said, backing away slightly and putting his hands up, 'listen, bud…'

'Shut up!' Jenkins snapped at him, waving the gun. 'I'll shoot - don't think I wo…' He was cut off by Cordelia punching him in the face and then grabbing his wrist, she bent it upright, twisted and - as he howled in pain - tugged the gun out of his grip. Then she let him drop to the floor and went back to Doyle's side. Doyle was looking slightly surprised. She smirked at him, 'slayer,' she said by way of explanation.

'Well, yeah, but…'

'Oh God - I think she broke me wrist!' Jenkins cried out from down on the floor. 'How did she … Oh god...'

With a slightly guilty expression, Cordelia handed the gun over to Doyle and went to squat beside the injured man. 'Here, let me see.' She lifted his wrist gently and ran her fingers over it, checking the bones, turning it this way and that. He gasped in pain a couple of times, but never screamed out - she could move his wrist around freely. 'It's not broken,' she told him, 'but it might swell up a bit. You need to strap it up when you get home - put ice on it and take some aspirin.'

Doyle smiled as he watched Cordelia do her whole First Aid Florence Nightingale bit ... over injuries she had just caused. She helped Jenkins back to his feet.

'Right,' Doyle said to him, 'so now y' can see that the balance o' power is definitely in our favour - maybe you can answer a few questions.'

Jenkins glanced around looking for an exit. 'And don't think about runnin',' Doyle said. 'She's as fast as she is strong. She'll bring y' down before you've gone more than three steps. We don't wanna hurt y'. We're just tryin' to work out what's goin' on.'

'This is the head office of a plague demon worshipping cult, right?' Cordelia said, folding her arms and narrowing her eyes and watching Jenkins closely. 'And your boss, Flannigan, is somehow mixed up in all that. So - how do you fit in?'

...

Unnoticed by the three people down on the warehouse floor - a dark hooded figure stood up on the catwalk and watched them.

...

'It's this cult,' Jenkins explained, 'The Black Tomorrow. It's a bunch of crazy … I dunno what they think happens, but they believe in this Lord of the Underworld - Morbus - they call him. They think he spreads plagues. Kooky stuff.'

Cordelia and Doyle glanced at each other.

'Anyway - I think they're just a bunch of psychos whipping up sarin gas here in their little warehouse … but their terrorist organisation has got rules. They run it like a religion. Now, they'll whip up a nasty virus or a deadly disease for you … but you gotta play their game, you gotta act like you think this Morbus guy is real.'

'Wait … you don't think Morbus is real?' Doyle asked him. Jenkins looked at him like he was mad. 'You do?'

Doyle and Cordelia exchanged another glance.

'Anyway … The Black Tomorrow - for a price - will kill whoever you ask, make it look like a horrible outbreak of illness. Flannigan - his business is in the toilet. He's burned his way through all his family's money. He had to sell off their heirlooms to pay these guys. He's desperate. He wants all his rivals taking out - so that his business will pick up.'

'Hang on a minute,' Cordelia said, 'his rivals? He runs a modelling agency, right?' She gave a disbelieving laugh. 'Are you telling me the master plan here is to take out - what? - a whole load of fashion model agents? That's it?' She turned to Doyle, 'you got a vision for this?' Doyle smiled at her. 'I got a vision so we could save Jenkins,' he reminded her. 'Which brings us to,' he turned to Jenkins, 'where do you come into it?'

'It's the psycho cult rules - worshipping their own personal plague Satan.' Jenkins told them. 'You pay The Black Tomorrow themselves cash - but their "overlord",' he made the air-quotes with his uninjured hand, 'only works for human sacrifice. In order to get the disease that will kill off his rivals and save his business - Flannigan's gonna go along with the kooks and sacrifice me.'

'And he just told you that?' Cordelia asked sounding surprised. But Jenkins shook his head, impatiently. Of course Flannigan hadn't _just_ told him that. There were … rituals - like he said, these Black Tomorrow guys were proper kooks. In order for the sacrifice to be "worthy" - he made the air-quotes again - certain rituals had to be performed.

At first it was nothing much - Flannigan had asked him all sorts of intrusive questions about what inoculations he had. He made him get a copy of his doctor's records and asked him to burn it. Jenkins was new to L.A - he just figured it was some strange celebrity healing fad. And when Flannigan had started making him drink these special shakes every day … yeah, he just figured it was the latest wheatgrass or whatever. Then the shakes started making him sick - literally throw up - but Flannigan was insistent that he carry on with them. Then Jenkins had to light a black candle on his birthday and say some mumbojumbo. He hadn't thought anything of it - well obviously he thought it was weird, but he needed this job - so he did as he was asked. It wasn't like any of this was hurting anyone.

It wasn't until Flannigan asked him to hold his hand out - and had sliced his palm open and then forced an inverted metal caduceus into his bleeding hand that he had started to think maybe there was something more than just an L.A trend going on. But by then it was too late. He started to investigate and found the payments to The Black Tomorrow in Flannigan's accounts and had looked them up. And then he did the stupid thing - instead of just running the hell away - he'd confronted Flannigan.

That was when Flannigan had starting setting men to follow him, make sure he didn't leave town. His boss had been upfront, now he was found out, now there was nothing Jenkins could do - told him exactly what the plan was - and told him if he tried to run they'd catch him and kill him earlier. He was being given a gift - Flannigan had said - he knew he was living his last few days on earth, so he might as well go out and enjoy them. Very few people ever knew exactly when their time would be up - it always came as a shock, left business unfinished. Jenkins was one of the lucky ones.

'But my time's up either way, now,' Jenkins said to them. 'They're doing the sacrifice tomorrow at sunset - up at Flannigan's old family home in the hills. It's all he has left - and if The Black Tomorrow don't come through for him he'll have to sell that too.'

'So - why did you come here?' Doyle asked frowning. 'Why not just get outta town?'

'I'm looking for the caduceus with my blood on it,' Jenkins explained. 'See - these kooks think they need it to raise this demon. God knows what really happens - but they believe in this stuff. If I can steal my blood back, they can't sacrifice me. Or so they think... I thought maybe it was being kept here. I gave the guy watching me the slip, came to look for it. But I don't have long - they always find me in the end.' He glanced at Doyle, 'you saw how he knew I was at that bar.'

'What will you do if you can't find it?' Cordelia asked.

'Run. I'm dead at sunset if I stay - they got no hold on me now. I'll run. I got no choice.'

'You can stay with us, we'll protect you,' she said to him.

'She's right - you've seen what she can do, we can keep y' safe, bud.'

But Jenkins shook his head. 'You don't understand what you're up against - these kooks - these cultists… They believe that if a sacrifice goes wrong then their demon overlord will devour them all, drag them down to hell and inflict all the plagues known to man on them for all eternity.' He saw the look on the young couple's face. 'Yeah - I know it's mad,' he said, misinterpreting their expressions, 'I know they're crazy. But they really believe this stuff - so what do you think they'll do to make sure the ritual doesn't go wrong, huh? What lengths do you think they'll take. Believe me - you don't wanna get mixed up in this. The only safe place to be is the hell away from them - so that's where I'm going.'

He tried to push past them - Cordelia made as if to stop him, but suddenly - as if from nowhere - one of the meathooks swung towards her head. Doyle caught sight of the movement out of the corner of his eye and acted on pure instinct; lunging towards her, pushing her to the ground and lying on top of her as it swung harmlessly past their heads. They both looked up, 'how the hell did that happen?' Cordelia asked - staring at the hook that had nearly brained her, which was now dangling quietly across the warehouse from them, swinging a little in the breeze.

'I think maybe we're not quite as alone here as we thought,' Doyle said to her. They looked around. There was no sign of anyone. Including Jenkins. He had disappeared.

'Maybe we should get out of here?' Cordy said, eyeing the meathooks. 'It's majorly creepy - and Jenkins already sang like a canary. It's time to go home.'

'Yeah - you're not wrong.' They got back to their feet and - looking around, cautious for anymore swinging meathooks, hurried towards the stairs. They ran up them and back along the walkway. Then - keeping lookout - Cordy helped Doyle wriggle through the open window and drop onto the fire escape and then, with one final glance around, she followed him out.

...

Once they were gone - the black hooded figure stepped out of the shadows. These two people, whoever they were, spelled trouble. The girl - she had spoken of visions, and she had appeared to be strong. Unusually strong. This man and woman were more than they appeared but, whatever they were, they were about to find out they were no match for The Black Tomorrow and their Lord Morbus.

* * *

The sun shone into the courtroom - which was packed with people watching Fries' trial. Lorne sat at the very back - incognito: a pair of sunglasses and gloves to cover his green skin and a hat to cover his horns. Lindsey was stood at the front, cross examining the defence's witness - he was making mincemeat of them - and both the crowd of spectators and the judge were having troubling stifling their giggles. The jury were just eating out of Lindsey's hand.

Keel got to his feet and buttoned up his jacket. 'Your honour, the defence objects to this entire line of questioning.'

Lindsey stopped and gave Keel a look of mock surprise, he seemed to be enjoying himself up there. The judge did not look impressed with the objection. 'Yes of course the defence objects. The defence always objects. I'm curious, Mr. Keel, is it the sound of talking that offends you?' This time nobody bothered to hide their laughter.

Keel flushed. 'We still feel that…'

Lorne had seen enough. He'd seen the look on Fries face when the court had laughed. He knew what was coming - everyone did - and he was ready to take them all down with him.

Sliding off the bench, Lorne made his way out of the courtroom and, once he was in the hallway, took out his cell and dialled: 'Angel toes, Lorne. Hey listen, I'm gonna recommend we go ahead and get that boy into isolation - pronto.'

'How long do we have?' Angel asked.

Lorne glanced back towards the courtroom. 'The defence is drawing it out, but the judge is making merry sport of them. Bit of a tag team effort between her and our old pal, Lindsey. And - well - now the jury is looking at Fries like he's O.J. - without the commanding performance in 'towering inferno'.'

'Do you think he's gonna say the word?'

...

Inside their surveillance van, Hauser and his agents had patched into the conversation and were listening in over the radio waves.

...

'Before they've even given the verdict,' Lorne said. 'He's dead meat and he knows it. I think Fries Junior is about to become patient zero.'

'Alright - thanks. I'll go to the school. Stay in there.'

Lorne hung up and ducked back inside the courtroom.

...

Hauser looked around at his men, as the airwaves went dead. 'OK, let's show the new boss how a threat is contained,' he said.

'Terminate the kid?' his second in command asked.

Hauser nodded. 'This is a level one, possible contagion. We take out the kid, the class, anyone within 50 yards. A clean sweep, people. No survivors, no witnesses.'

The doors to the garage slid open and, with a screech of tyres, the black ops van roared out into the street.


	5. Conviction: Part Four

_Part Four_

Doyle sat at the computer searching out Flannigan's house. He'd found the home address and was now looking to see if there was anything in the city planning archives about it's grounds or layout, so they could have an idea of the lay of the land before they arrived to do battle.

Cordelia had her laptop on the green sofa. She was on the Demons Demons Demons database looking up any weaknesses that Lord Morbus might have. She also had a big old book of Wesley's open beside her which she was occasionally cross referencing. She made notes in a little pad. 'OK,' she said, once she was done, 'I'm gonna head back to my place and grab some of the weapons I've got there.' She stood up, wriggled into her jacket and grabbed her purse. She headed over to the desk and leaned across to give Doyle a swift kiss goodbye. 'I'll be back in about a hour, don't work too hard.'

He grunted, absently, his eyes still glued to the screen. She smiled and waved over her shoulder as she left the office. She walked down the three little steps and out into the sunshine, headed for where the pickup was parked.

...

She didn't notice the blackcloaked figure suddenly melt out of the shadows from under the awning across the road. The figure watched her get in the truck and drive away and - now that the unusually strong girl was out of the way - it crossed the road and headed for the office, knowing it would now find the man all alone.

* * *

Angel was grabbing his things, he was in his office - in a hurry. Wesley was talking to him as he got ready. 'Fred's got the lab techs on track for an antidote but it could be days,' Wes reported. 'Same with removing the mystical container, I'm afraid. If we could get them to suspend the trial…'

'Never gonna happen,' Angel told him, putting on his coat, 'I gotta get to the school.'

Harmony appeared in the doorway and rapped on the open door, 'uh, boss?'

But Angel didn't have time to hear what she had to say. 'It can wait,' it said to her, dismissively, heading out.

'Maybe not,' she disagreed. But Angel wasn't listening. 'Go to the courthouse,' he instructed Wesley, 'plan C. I'll let you know when I've isolated the boy.'

'The special ops team already left for the school,' Harmony blurted out, as Angel walked past her. He span around and glared at her. 'What?'

'They left, and they called for the cleaners to meet there. I have it from the girls "cleaners" means a big job. Lots of bodies.'

'How long ago?' Angel looked panicked.

'About ten minutes.'

'You'll never beat them on the streets,' Wesley worried, looking at his watch and thinking about L.A traffic and their insurmountable head start.

'Well I gotta try.'

'Uh - boss?' Harmony interrupted.

'What?' Angel and Wesley both yelled at her.

* * *

The black van turned the corner - it's tyres squealing - and then thundered on down the road, paying no heed to traffic lights or speed limits.

* * *

In the classroom, the 30 children, Matthew Fries among them, sat and listened attentively as their teacher showed them a diagram of the different parts of a plant, up on the board.

* * *

Wesley slipped inside the courtroom and sat down on the very back bench, beside Lorne. 'How's it going?' he whispered. Up front, Fries had turned at hearing the door open. He stared at Wesley - his face showing that he knew exactly which verdict was coming - and that he would make everyone pay for Wolfram and Hart's failure. '... Never mind,' Wesley said, reading Fries expression.

Lindsey was up at the front, making his case - or more like poking fun at the defence's case. 'Calling witness after witness,' he said to the court, 'each less credible than the one before...'

'Yeah…' Lorne said, looking over at Lindsey and then back at Wesley, 'so what's the plan? You've got a plan?'

Wesley sighed and opened his jacket, revealing the gun he had stashed in there. He was embracing the grey.

'Yikes,' Lorne said, seeing it , 'and here I thought we were desperate.'

* * *

The black van squealed into the parking lot and slammed the brakes on. The commandos swarmed out of the back and then spread into formation; their guns pointed. They ran down the corridor towards the classroom and pulled their gas masks over their faces. The classroom door was kicked open and a gas canister was tossed inside. The commandos stood back in the hall and waited. Nothing happened.

Hauser approached cautiously … the classroom was already empty. Except for the vampire - who sat in one of the kiddie chairs, his feet up on the desk. 'You know what I forgot Lilah already told me?' Angel asked, grinning, 'with this new deal and all - I own a helicopter.'

'Where's the boy?' Hauser demanded through his mask.

'You just missed everybody,' he waved the smoke out of his face. 'I probably do not wanna be breathing that.'

'Kid's still a threat. Which means you have him isolated: probably nearby.'

Angel pretended to look impressed. 'I can tell why they made you the leader,' he said. '...Do I even have to start with how fired you all are?'

But Hauser only laughed, and removed his mask. 'That's not how it works.'

'Oh right!' Angel said - like he was just remembering now. 'Tradition. Why don't you show me how that's done?'

Hauser nodded, 'thank you, sir,' then he turned to his agents, 'take him out!'

They opened fire on Angel - round after round flying off from their automatic weapons, destroying the displays and the walls behind, shooting up the desks and the chairs. The air was thick with bullets. Angel dove for cover behind the teacher's desk. The bullets continued to spray the air and the wall … and then Hauser signalled them to stop.

One commando approached the desk with a wooden hunting knife in hand. He was cautious - not sure how injured the vampire would be … the answer was not at all.

Vamped out, Angel grabbed the commando and threw him across the room. Then he took out another. The commandos began to fire again - and Angel leapt across the room from desk to desk until he was in front of the squaddies. One of them broke open a bottle of holy water - but Angel kicked it away from him and then ran up the wall and propelled himself into a spinning kick, getting the agent in the face. Then he grabbed another and shoved him back through the door - the classroom was now clear of the black ops team, and he headed into the hall to finish them off.

* * *

'Hey, did you make any progress while I was…' Cordelia trailed off and stopped dead in the door, her eyes growing wide with shock. The office was a mess, furniture thrown everywhere, paper strewn around the floor. Doyle was sporting a torn shirt and a bloody lip and - tied up in the chair - was a man wearing a black cloak. 'What the hell's going on?' she asked.

'I was attacked,' Doyle told her, he was still breathing heavily from his exertion. 'I think this is the answer to the mystery o' the swingin' meathook. Cloaky here followed us from the warehouse last night. Waited 'til supergirl was outta the way and then came in here … thinkin' he could take out the - uh - weaker party.' He kicked the man in the shins for the insult. The man groaned. Cordelia bit back a laugh, 'well - you certainly showed him.'

'Yeah - well, he wasn't expectin' me to turn green and smack him in the face with the keyboard. He's just a guy in a daft cloak - he's got no power of his own.'

'And are you OK?' she asked, checking him over with her eyes. 'Your lip's bleeding.'

Doyle put his hand to his lip and then looked at the red smear across his fingers. 'It's nothin',' he said, 'I'm fine. And now we got ourselves our very own member of The Black Tomorrow to interrogate. Find out everythin' we need to know about this ritual sacrifice they're doin' tonight.'

'Wow,' said Cordelia, sounding genuinely impressed.

* * *

Wesley and Lorne were still on the back benches - nervously watching the proceedings. It was looking bad. They were out of time and everyone in the room knew Fries was guilty. The Jury would barely make it into their jury room before they had made that decision. This was the end of the line…

'If there are no more objections I'll hear final summations,' the judge said to Keel and Lindsey.

At the back of the room, the door opened and a very well dressed man in expensive shoes entered the court and walked towards the front. 'Your honour the defence requests one minute to confer,' Gunn said.

Both Wesley and Lorne's mouths dropped open in shock. Over on the prosecutors bench, Lindsey was looking as if this was inconvenient timing … but he didn't seem overly shocked that Charles Gunn - orphan and street fighter - was now stood in a court of law in designer labels acting like he'd spent his whole life training for the bar.

'Another defence attorney?' the judge asked, sounding as unimpressed with Wolfram and Hart as she had throughout the whole proceedings. 'What a joy.'

Gunn leaned down and whispered in Keel's ear - who nodded and then stood to address the judge. 'Um your honour, at this point I'd like to cede the floor to my colleague, Charles Gunn.'

'So noted.'

'Thank you, your honour,' Gunn put his alligator skin briefcase down on the defence's table and then straightened his already perfectly knotted and straight silk tie. 'Your honour, the defence moves for a mistrial.'

Loud whispers broke out amongst the spectators. Wes and Lorne stared at each other. The judge, however, was staring at Gunn - her expression showed that she was not amused with this latest ploy. 'You are, of course, joking?'

'Your honour, that's the second prejudicial comment you've made against the defence since I entered this room.'

She ignored him, 'what are your grounds for requesting a mistrial?'

Gunn picked up a file and asked for permission to approach the bench. His grounds were the judge herself, he wished her to recuse herself from the trial. She told him that he was skating on thin ice above deep water - but he only handed her the file. It was her own personal tax records. 'No judge shall be appointed to try any case concerning a business colleague or employee,' Gunn told her. He sounded like he was reciting a ruling verbatim.

A portion of her records had been highlighted. They indicated stock she owned in a company called Oriental Bay Exports. This company was owned by a larger company, Loras incorporated, and _that_ was owned by a consortium which included none other than the defendant: Corbin Fries.

The judge stared down at her records, flustered. 'I have brokers who do my … you submit that I could possibly have known about this connection?'

'I found out about it,' Gunn replied 'and I've only been on the case…' he checked his watch, 'six hours.'

'The ice is melting, counsellor,' the judge said to him - her tone was hard.

'The defence submits it has learned how to swim,' Gunn looked around at the tittering jury and withdrew the remark with an apology and a gracious smile. Then he picked up a very thick law book from out of his briefcase. 'McCraken vs the State of Maine 1954,' he cited, 'Any financial dealings shall be deemed the responsibility of the interested party, regardless of number or function of employees, unless said party has been judged mentally incapable.' He put the book back down and sought permission to approach the bench, once more. 'And furthermore, the strain on my client's several businesses has forced Oriental Bay Exports to shrink its holdings of late. If Mr. Fries is convicted, the interest your honour has in it would represent a controlling interest. I would prefer not to present the rest of our findings in front of the jury.'

Looking even more flustered, the judge glanced between Gunn and Lindsey - who only shrugged, if her records were correct then the defence had her and there was nothing the D.A's office could do about it. 'I'll see counsel in my chambers. Right now,' the judge said - and brought her hammer down.

Right at the back, Lorne and Wes heaved a collective sigh of relief … though it was tempered with shock and more than a little worry about Gunn's sudden new found competence with the law.

* * *

Still in vamp face, Angel worked his way through all the agents in the hallway - taking them out, smacking them down - until only Hauser was left standing, and the two of them were face to face. Hauser pointed his gun - and Angel shook off his vampiric features, 'you know that won't kill me,' he said.

'It'll hurt,' Hauser told him, 'that's the fun part.'

'Agent Hauser, I'm honestly beginning to suspect that you're not part of the solution.'

Hauser looked at him like he was an idiot. 'You really think you can solve the problem?' He shoved the barrel of the gun right in Angel's face. 'Come into Wolfram and Hart and make everything right? Turn night into glorious day? You pathetic little fairy.'

'I'm not _little_,' Angel protested, a note of surprised injury in his voice.

'That's precisely what you are,' Hauser snarled at him, still pointing the gun. 'You're minuscule. A dust mote on the shelf of that great institution. Now, you think I'm just a trigger-happy jerk who follows orders, but I am something you will never be. I'm pure. I believe in evil. You and your friends, you're conflicted. You're confused. We're not. That is why you are gonna lose, because we possess the most powerful thing in the world... conviction.'

Angel stared at him blankly, unimpressed by his evil monologuing. He could monologue straight back. 'There is one thing more powerful than conviction. Just one. Mercy.' … Or he could do this: he kicked Hauser in the chest, knocking him back against the wall and forced the gun upright so it was pointing beneath the commando's chin. The gun went off - the bullet travelled upwards - and Hauser and his gun collapsed to the floor, leaving a bloody spatter against the wall.

Angel walked away. One of the other agents - one Angel had already downed - stared in horror at his boss' collapsed head. 'What happened to mercy?' he called after Angel.

He didn't even look back. 'You just saw the last of it.'

* * *

Cordelia and Doyle stashed their weapons in the back of Gunn's pickup. Doyle had also taken cloak guy's cloak from him, and was carrying that in his hand. Their hostage had squealed - long and loud - and, thanks to his info, they had a plan. It was time for their big fight scene - their first real case since they had gone solo. They climbed into the cab of the truck and drove out to the address in the hills.

* * *

Lilah stood in the hallway and stared up the blood stains. If that red mark mixed with brain matter spattered high on the wall of an elementary school - right next to a 'my favourite stories' display - didn't signify Angel embracing the grey, she didn't know what did.

* * *

Left alone in the office, the member of The Black Tomorrow struggled under his bonds. He needed to get free, he needed to put right his mistake. He had underestimated those two. He had known that the girl had power beyond what seemed natural, but it had come as a surprise to him to discover that the man had also possessed enhanced abilities of his own. He hoped they would not be able to stand against all of his brethren and their dark overlord … but he could not take the chance. The consequences for himself and his brother cultists would be … unthinkable.

Wriggling around under the ropes that bound him, he managed to work himself loose. The little man who had turned into a demon had not been expecting to take a prisoner today, he had had to improvise when it came to tying his hostage to a chair - using the cord from the window blinds as a rope. The cord was not enough to hold anyone who was desperate to get loose - and it broke easily after a couple of minutes working at it.

Free at last, the man leapt to his feet and ran from the office - heading for the address in the hills. He had to get to the super girl and the demon man before they managed to sabotage the sacrifice.

* * *

They parked the pickup down the street and then crept through the gates and up the drive of Flannigan's old family home. It was a big Gothic, Victorian looking thing - with a stoop and three tall, slender windows above that. There was a little circular window at the very top of the house - where the attic must be, and the downstairs windows were two large bay things either side of the porch. The paintwork was greying and peeling and the roof tiles were covered in moss. It must have been a very fine home back in its day … but now it just looked like the place out of 'Psycho'.

They knew the ritual would be taking place in the basement - but nevertheless they stayed out of the sightline of the other windows in case anyone happened to be on a higher storey looking out. Doyle put on the cloak that he had taken from their captured cultist. Cordelia gave him a kiss. 'Stay safe,' she said, 'nothing brave. Just get in there - if they've got Jenkins, get as close to him as you can and then wait for my signal.'

'What's your signal?'

'Me crashing through the window to kill the demon.'

'Right.'

She kissed him again. 'Once I'm fighting - you grab Jenkins and get him out of there, you hear?'

'You want me to leave you?'

'I want you to be safe!'

'I appreciate that darlin' - but how safe were you when that meat hook was swingin at your head? You might need me.'

'Doyle -' she sighed, she couldn't be bothered with the argument - not right now. This was what she did, now - who she was. She didn't need him there just to fight a demon and she didn't want to be distracted worrying about him … but she didn't want to say that, it sounded harsh. 'Just get down there and get on with the plan. And try not to get yourself captured or killed.'

He nodded, gave her a kiss goodbye and then pulled the hood of his stolen cloak over his head, disguising his face. The front door was unlocked and he crept through it and into the hallway. It was the same story of faded grandeur, in here, as it was on the exterior. The wallpaper was clearly expensive - but ancient and thick with dust. There was a grandfather clock at the foot of the stairs with its minute hand missing and an elephant's foot umbrella stand that held only one broken umbrella.

He walked down the hall and into the kitchen, he reckoned the access to the basement would be in there. Sure enough, there was another door across the room from him, stood next to the ancient looking refrigerator. He went over to it and pulled it open, revealing the staircase leading down.

...

Meanwhile, Cordelia had sneaked around the side of the house and was headed for the basement window. Lord Morbus would devour his sacrifice whole, so Jenkins' life was in no danger until the demon was called - but she and Doyle would have to wait for the raising and kill the demon if they were to put a stop to The Black Tomorrow's activities. So she was waiting for the demon to rise before she entered the field of play.

She passed a garden shed, which was as dilapidated as the house, and then found the basement window. She crouched down on the ground, peering in. It was dark and gloomy inside - but she could just make out the shapes of the cult members, and could see quite clearly the flames of the candles they held.

In the middle of the room, she could see Jenkins - tied up and gagged and looking terrified.

...

Doyle reached the bottom of the stairs - and nearly had a heart attack when a member of The Black Tomorrow melted out of the gloom right in front of him. But the cultist only greeted him, 'welcome brother, may you travel in pestilence.'

'And may plague go with you at your side,' Doyle squeaked - the way his hostage had told him. His heart hammered inside his chest as he waited to see if this was correct, or if he had been lied to. But the cult member seemed happy with his words - and handed him a black candle, which he then lit.

Inside the basement the other cult members wore their robes and carried their own candles and paced throughout the room, cutting a single file path in a figure of eight and chanting as they went. Doyle joined them - walking with the flow of the brethren and murmuring so he wouldn't stand out. He could see Jenkins tied up in the middle of the stream of pacing cultists, and he shifted his path slightly so he was walking in the centre, as close to Jenkins as he could get.

There was one other person in the room and - like Jenkins - they were not wearing a black robe. The man was stood behind the chair Jenkins was tied to and kept on checking his watch, as if he were impatient. This must be Flannigan himself. Doyle had been told that the supplicant must feed their sacrifice to Morbus in person, whilst The Black Tomorrow chanted in order to keep the demon on this plane of existence. He wondered if, like Jenkins, Flannigan also thought this was just a load of religious mumbojumbo and that no demon would actually appear. Boy was he going to be in for a big surprise, if that was the case.

He carried on pacing and chanting, wondering when it would be time.

...

Cordelia peered through the window, 'come on demon guy,' she muttered impatiently, clutching her sword. 'Show already.' She didn't notice her escaped hostage sneak up behind her, battle axe in hand…

...

One of the members of The Black Tomorrow suddenly stepped into the centre of the pacing figure of eight and waved an incense burner in his hand. The smoke that emanated from it curled out in green rivulets and spread around the room like a miasma - stinging Doyle's eyes. And then another cultist stepped into the centre and held up the bloody caduceus that Jenkins had been searching for the night before. The two leaders began to chant in Latin: _Lord Morbus, Many headed king of death - we, your unworthy acolytes, beg you to bless us with your diseased presence, that we may look upon your pestilent flesh. We have an offering to make... _

A wind began to whip up, inside the basement - the folds of the cloaks began to billow in the breeze. The flames of the candles guttered, but did not die out. Doyle looked upward towards the ceiling. 'Oh boy,' he muttered.

...

The blade of the axe whistled as it fell through the air. Cordelia turned and - at the last second - snapped her arm out and grabbed the handle, staying the fatal blow. She felt the cultist struggle to maintain his grip on the axe, now she also held it in her fist - and she used her strength to push upwards, single handedly forcing the guy and his axe away from herself. He flew backwards and landed on the grass and she jumped to her feet, her sword in her right hand.

He rolled and grabbed his axe and scrambled back to his feet. Cordelia circled him warily, her sword extended. It would be easier if he was a demon and she could just stab him. But he was human - and so she was limited in what she could do with a weapon this pointy … so she kept her distance, keeping the space open.

But the cult member had no similar qualms about trying to kill her. He smashed his axe down on her sword and it flew from her hand - and then he charged at her. She backed up until she was against the ramshackle shed … but now there was nowhere to go - and the axe blade was swinging once more.

...

The wind whipped up faster and faster and began to howl. Doyle could feel the force of it battering against his face, now, the hood of his cloak flapped around like it had a life of its own. But all the other hooded men continued to pace - and so Doyle fought against the wind and kept pace with them.

In the centre of the figure of eight, Jenkins was straining against his bonds, looking terrified. Even Flannigan looked unnerved - and Doyle knew for sure that, like Jenkins, the man had just thought The Black Tomorrow were a group of kooks … he had no idea what he had actually got himself into. He was about to find out.

With a great roaring and screaming, the air in the middle of the figure of eight actually split in two. There was a great flash of light and then Lord Morbus, Many Headed King of Death, materialised in the basement. Each of his many heads screamed out as if in pain - their long serpent tongues flickering in and out of the many mouths.

Flannigan stared up the putrid, festering boil covered demon - as horrified and terrified almost as Jenkins was. 'Come on, you fool!' the cultist with the caduceus hissed at him, 'make your offering - say the words we taught you before he gets angry.'

Flannigan continued to stare - his eyes popping with horror. 'Pp -pestilent L -lord Morbus…' he stuttered, 'accept - accept this sa-sacrifice and .. and in return … grant me the p-power to smite … my enemies.'

The many heads screamed and snapped again.

'C'mon Cordy,' Doyle muttered to himself, getting worried, 'where are y', love?'

...

Cordelia pressed right up against the wood of the shed as the man bore down on her, axe in hand. She had no weapons of her own and not much space. She had allowed herself to be cornered - so _stupid_. And now she was going to have to make do with whatever came to hand. She felt behind her and found the handle of the shed door. She smiled - and then - just as the man swung at her - she pulled … CRACK the door came off in her hand, pulled free from its hinges, and she swung it with all her might and smashed the man in the face with it, just as his own blade came whistling toward her, again.

She could hit much harder than he - and he was knocked flying across the garden and crashed through the porch fencing - before landing in a heap on the stoop. He didn't get back up again. She tossed the door to the side, picked up his fallen axe and then went to retrieve her sword.

...

This was looking serious. Morbus was here - and Flannigan had made the offering - and, for whatever reason, Cordelia had missed her own signal. Doyle knew he was supposed to only grab Jenkins and get the hell out to safety - but if he didn't do something, Jenkins would be eaten before Cordelia showed. He needed to cause a distraction…

He tilted his candle so that it was touching the sleeve of the guy in front of him and then held it there until the cloak caught alight. It took a moment for the man to realise he was on fire, but once he did, he started waving his arm around - making it worse as he fed the flames oxygen. The other cultists stopped their pacing and backed away from the burning man. Doyle took the opportunity to elbow another one in the face and kick another one in the shins. Both cultists stumbled back - and bumped into another of their brethren … and then there was a domino effect of pushing and shoving and punching - all the while the man on fire kept flailing around in the centre.

Lord Morbus roared out in pain as the ritual broke down. 'What are you doing?' the cultist with the incense burner screamed at his fighting brethren, 'keep chanting - keep pacing. Don't break the ritual. You are hurting our Lord!'

But The Black Tomorrow had lost all discipline - and Lord Morbus shrieked in agony as the ties that bound him to this plane of existence began to break down.

Doyle took the opportunity, amidst all the confusion, to take his switchblade out of his pocket and head towards Jenkins.

...

Cordelia peered back through the window and saw all hell breaking loose: the man on fire, the fighting cultists - and the demon lord already risen in the centre of the room. 'Oh crap,' she muttered under her breath and then kicked in the window - jumping down into the basement; a blade in each hand. She kicked and shoved her way through the writhing, fighting band of blackcloaked men and forced her way towards the demon.

...

Doyle, meanwhile, had made it to Jenkins' side. The demon was still screaming - unable to move towards his sacrifice because the ritual that allowed him to enter this world was breaking down, trapping him in place. Flannigan had been stood frozen, horrorstruck, but when he noticed Doyle, crouched down, cutting Jenkins' ropes he came out of his stupor. 'Hey!' he yelled, 'get off him.' He lunged towards Doyle - Doyle quickly sprang to his feet and thumped Flannigan hard in the face. Flannigan stumbled backwards and slammed into the torso of the many headed demon. Morbus screamed in agony and one of its giant serpent heads shot down and devoured the man in one bite. Doyle winced, 'whoops,' he muttered, and then got back to cutting Jenkins' ropes.

...

Cordelia had now made it through to the centre of basement. She kicked the cultist holding the caduceus out of the way and then span and kicked out the one holding the incense burner. Then, gripping a blade firmly in each hand, she started swinging - hacking and slashing at the many, diseased heads of Morbus. They each fell to the floor like the curling offcuttings from a barbers shop and she kept on going - her blades flashing silver in the air, her steps sure - like a dance - until there were no more heads left.

As the decapitated trunk stood swaying on the floor, she took her sword and rammed it through its heart. As she pulled the blade free, the body fell to the floor with a thunderous crash. Then the wind picked up again - and Cordy dashed over to where Doyle was still freeing Jenkins. 'Get down,' she said, and her boyfriend ducked for cover and she wrapped her arms protectively around him and the man tied to the chair as the wind whirled around them.

The members of The Black Tomorrow all began to scream - as the howling wind blew stronger and stronger, whipping up to a fever pitch. Cordy closed her eyes as the inhuman noise reached its crescendo … and then it just died away. She pried one eye open. Then she opened the other and looked around. The basement was empty except for her and the two men. 'where…?'

'Did that thing die?' Doyle asked her, 'the demon?'

'Yup,' she nodded, 'kill all its head and then stab its heart. That's what the website said… what happened to all the cult guys?'

'The ritual,' Jenkins gasped - still half tied to the chair. 'It went wrong… they believe if a ritual goes wrong then they will be taken to the underworld to have all diseases known to man inflicted on them for all eternity.'

'So … they're in the underworld now?' Doyle asked. He finished cutting Jenkins free and the man got to his feet, rubbing his wrists. 'I can't believe it was real … I thought for sure … and you,' he turned to Doyle and Cordy, 'you two saved me - you really came back and saved me. I don't believe it.'

'Ah - we're Angel Investigations,' Doyle waved it off as if it were nothing, 'we help the hopeless - it's what we do.'

'I - I don't know how I can ever repay you.'

Doyle looked at Cordelia - an eyebrow raised, but she shook her head. 'No payment necessary,' she told Jenkins. '_This time_. But if you ever need our services again - our fees are really quite reasonable.'

Jenkins stared at her. For a long time.

'What?' she asked nervously, 'do I have something on my face?' she patted her face to check, feeling nothing that wasn't supposed to be there.

'No -' he shook his head, 'no but… has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?'

She wrinkled her face up, 'oh please.'

'I tell her all the time, bud - it's not really anyone else's place, yeah?'

'No…' Jenkins shook his head, 'that wasn't a come on, that was…' he dug into his pocket and brought out a business card and handed it to her. 'Now Flannigan's dead, I guess the business is mine.'

She looked at the card, 'modelling?' she said, doubtfully.

'I can't make you Claudia Schiffer,' Jenkins shrugged, 'but some extra cash modelling for catalogues? Yeah - I could probably get you that. If you have time between all the …' he looked round the basement, 'slaughter. Give me a call - I'll hook you up. It's the least I can do.'

'That's true,' Cordelia mused.

Doyle chuckled and wrapped his arm around Cordy. 'Come on, bud,' he said to Jenkins, 'we'll get you home.'

* * *

'How's it going?' Wesley asked, appearing in the doorway to Fred's office up in her lab. She took off her glasses and smiled at him, 'now that we've got the little boy we're able to determine what virus he has much quicker than just making a stab in the dark. We'll be able to use the makeup of the virus itself to form the antidote - give it to the boy and keep it on file for if anyone else ever gets their hands on this thing … I've got Knox running the data right now.'

'Right …' Wesley said, nodding. 'How is _Knox_?'

Fred gave him a confused look, 'he's … fine. Probably flat out tired right now, we've all been working non-stop but,' she smiled, 'I guess we can sleep when the boy's safe.'

'Uhuh … and you trust him? To find the antidote - to keep the boy safe?'

Again Fred looked confused, she tried to laugh it off - but her laugh was uncomfortable - like she didn't like where this was going. 'I'm his boss - he does as I tell him. He doesn't have a choice. He works for me.'

'He works for _Wolfram and Hart_,' Wesley pointed out.

'So do we,' Fred pointed right back. She sighed, 'look, Wes - I know it would be naive to trust all of our employees here - they work for evil incorporated - some of them are gonna be evil. But some of them …' she shrugged, 'we came here for what this place could offer us. Is it so hard to believe that some of the others did too? Look at this place! This lab is a dream. You don't have to be evil to be willing to sell your own mother just to work here … just a standard issue science nerd. I get that you're twitchy about the credentials of the people we work with - that's smart. But why are ya picking specifically on poor old Knox?'

'That's what I'd like to know,' Lilah appeared in the doorway - and smiled at both of them, her most devilish, manipulative smile.

'Lilah,' Wesley said, glancing awkwardly between her and Fred. Fred gave him a hard look - and then went back to studying her papers, pretending to pay no attention to the two former lovers currently doing … whatever the hell it was they did now - in her office.

'Wesley, I was looking for you in the rare scrolls section … your staff told me I might find you here… with Fred.' She raised an eyebrow and gazed pointedly between them. Fred refused to look up, continuing to stare furiously at her work as if there were no one else in the room.

Wesley cleared his throat awkwardly, 'and was there any particular reason you were looking for me, Lilah?' he asked.

Again came the devilish smirk and the raised eyebrow. 'Actually it was The Senior Partners who told me to come and speak with you,' she said with an elegant shrug of her shoulders, 'they want to know if you've made any progress on deactivating the container in the little boy. They take a very dim view of something wiping out the whole of California - it's not in their game plan,' she gave a little laugh under her breath, 'at least it's not in their game plan _for just now._'

Wesley stiffened his spine and stared down his nose at her, trying to make his voice cold - intimating that she would not be able to use her relationship with him to help The Senior Partners spy on Angel. He was in no way conflicted about where his loyalty lay. 'If and when I have anything to report I will deliver my findings directly to Angel,' he told her.

She gave another shrug, 'if you can find him. He isn't in the office right now.'

Fred finally looked up from her work, her face was curious. 'What? Where is he?'

'Search me - he just said there was some place he needed to be. He didn't leave a forwarding address.'

* * *

Although it was late - Doyle and Cordy were still in their office. Cordy was busy setting it up - sorting out the filing cabinet, putting books on shelves; turning it into a space they could work in. Doyle had a screwdriver out and was busy hanging the interoffice door back on its hinges. He was knelt on the floor, a couple of screws sticking out of his mouth as he worked away tightening a third in place. His back was to the front door - and he didn't look up when he heard it open.

'Oh my god!' he glanced up at Cordy, when he heard her speak - unlike him, she was paying attention to their late night visitor. Doyle twisted so he could take a look. Angel was stood in the doorway, Connor was balanced on his hip. 'Angel, man…' he got to his feet and took the screws from his mouth, pocketing them. He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked awkwardly between Cordy and their guest, 'uh - what brings you here?'

'I just thought I'd stop by the old place … and say 'hey'.' He glanced around at the office they were fixing up, 'it looks good. Is there coffee?'

'Angel…?' Cordelia sounded surprised - but too confused to be happy, 'how did you know we were here?'

'I … I lurk,' he smiled, shyly. They both smiled back at him - and Cordelia held her arms out to take Connor. 'I've missed _you_,' she said to the little baby, holding him close, 'yes I have - and you've grown to be such a big boy!' Angel sat down on the green sofa.

'It's been two weeks,' Doyle pointed out to her, as he poured Angel a coffee and handed it over.

'Babies grow all the time! Two weeks is like _forever_ if you're Connor's age.'

Angel accepted his coffee and smiled as he watched Cordy play with his son. The smile was sad - he still loved Cordelia and could never have her - and now there was a great aching distance between them as they fought on opposite sides of the war.

Doyle leaned against the side and watched the vampire watch his girlfriend. 'So - uh - how's … how's life at evil incorporated? They treatin' y' good?'

'I have a helicopter,' Angel said tearing his gaze from Cordy and looking up at Doyle, instead. 'And twelve of the most beautiful sports cars you've ever seen. And they've got this special glass - call it necro tempered - means I can have the blinds open in my office and penthouse and not - you know - burst into flames.'

Doyle whistled, 'well - that all sounds very swish …'

'I hate it,' Angel said suddenly. 'I mean - not the cars. Or the penthouse. Or the sunshine. And the ride in the helicopter was a lot of fun, y'know? But all the shades of grey, bigger picture stuff they're trying to sell me. Telling me how complicated really doing any good is, how little we ever achieved at Angel Inc… it's mind numbing - and I've barely started.' He looked across at them both. 'It means a lot to me that you're both still here,' he said, 'fighting the fight. My fight. In my place. I wish I could be with you. I wish I could be with you when it comes to an end.' He glanced down at his hands and then up at Doyle, who was still leaning against the side with the coffee maker. 'You're still on your path to redemption,' Angel told him, 'and I know you're gonna make it … we were supposed to make it there together.'

'We still might,' Doyle said to him, keeping his voice light. 'Angel, bud, things aren't over until they're over. Y' can't give up.'

'I'm working for the wrong side now,' the vampire said quietly. 'And I've seen …' he shook his head and trailed off.

'Hey,' Cordelia went to sit beside him. She still held Connor, but she rested her spare hand on Angel's knee and squeezed, comfortingly. 'You're trapped there - for Connor - we get that. But just because you're part of their game now doesn't mean you have to play by their rules. You can make a difference - even in a place like that. The good fight is still there - and it's still your fight. It will _always_ be your fight.'

But Angel only sighed. 'Today we helped keep a man who runs trafficking and prostitution rings out of prison because he threatened to detonate a virus that would kill everyone in California, if we didn't. Sure - we saved the lives of tens of millions of people … but that sleazebag still walked free. Is still free to hurt people. And I'm told that's 'seeing the bigger picture'... I don't like the bigger picture.' He looked around the office, wistfully, 'you remember how simple everything was back when we worked here?' he asked.

Doyle and Cordy glanced at each other and then nodded.

'It all got so complicated,' Angel said, heavily, 'when did it all get so complicated?

The young couple exchanged another glance. 'Right around the time Darla showed up,' Cordelia told him.

'Right … Darla. She was a Wolfram and Hart trick. And in the end she gave them exactly what they wanted… not in the way they thought but, Darla gave me Connor and losing Connor led me straight to them. It's all been a trick - right from the start. Right from the day I kicked that guy out the window and Lindsey tried to give me his business card. They've been plotting and planning against me since I first got to this city - and now they have me. Right where they want me. To do God knows what.'

'If they want you - it's because they need you. And if they need you - that gives you power,' Cordelia said softly. 'Don't despair, Angel - they want you to despair. Don't play the game their way - but play it and play it smart. Don't ever let them know what you're really thinking, don't ever tip your hand. And when the time comes … you can hit them harder from inside than you ever could back when you were fighting out of this place. You can still make a difference, Angel, I know you can.'

'You think?' He asked her.

'Sure thing, bud,' It was Doyle that replied, 'and when you're done with them - we'll still be here. We'll still be waiting for y'. This fight's not goin' anywhere - and you're never gonna run outta chances for redemption, just as long as y' take 'em.' He smiled at the vampire - and Angel smiled back, looking more happy and more hopeful than he had when he had walked through their door. 'So … you guys still have the Plymouth right?' he asked, 'are you taking care of it?'

...

Once Angel and Connor had finally left, Cordelia got up from the sofa and wrapped her arms around Doyle's neck, giving him a kiss. 'What was that for?' he asked, sounding pleasantly surprised.

'To say sorry,' she told him, 'for being such a brat lately. For acting like the big loner hero who has to do everything by themselves and trying to cut you off. Seems pretty silly when the original big loner hero, the dark avenger himself, then walks through our door looking for a pickmeup.' She kissed him again. 'No hero can do everything alone - and I'm new to this. I shouldn't even try. You really saved the day today: taking that hostage; getting all that info; stopping the ritual when I got held up. And you saved my life last night. I need you with me. I'm not ready to go out there and save the world by myself - and even if I ever am ready...' she kissed him one more time, 'I don't wanna save the world without you by my side.'

'You really don't have to say sorry, darlin'.' He assured her, 'I'm not just sayin' it, when I tell you I get how hard this for y'. I am speaking from long and bitter and alcoholic experience.' They both laughed. 'And I appreciate y' wantin' to keep me safe,' he told her. 'I do - I know the power imbalance between us seems … crazy, right now, but y' gotta remember, princess, it's you that just got a whole lot stronger - not me that got weaker. I'm just as capable as I always was - anythin' y' would have trusted me with before you were freakishly strong, you can still trust me with now. I've been sidekicking professionally for four years now - I know what I'm doin'. And I got my own superpowers, I'm a superhero in my own right. I don't need y' to protect me.'

'I know,' she lowered her arms so they were now wrapped around his waist - and he wrapped his own arms around her. 'I just forgot, in all the madness. I've been acting like I'm _The _slayer with a capital T … and I'm not. I'm _A_ slayer. One of many - because one can't really do it all on her own. And more than that - I run a paranormal detective agency, and I can't help the hopeless without my seer and I can't stop the business from folding without my partner.' She gave him another kiss. 'I really do need your help - in so many different ways. You're just as important to the good fight as I am. I get that now.'

He smiled at her, and raised one hand to stroke her hair. 'You'll always need me and I'll always need you,' he told her, 'we're a team … 'til death do us part. And I'm gonna help you adjust to all the new changes - until they're just a part of who y' are… and then everythin' will probably change again. That's how life works.'

'In my defence - they were very big changes - right out of the blue.'

He laughed, 'yeah … you should try sneezin' and turnin' into a big, blue pincushion one mornin'.' He looked her deep in the eyes, 'I know this whole slayer thing's been a shock. And I know you're not happy about bein' handed a destiny outta nowhere - but there's a lot o' people in this city that need helpin' and you can really make a difference to their lives … you game?'

She smiled back at him and nodded. 'I'm game.'... Then she tilted her head to the side and looked up at him flirtatiously through her lashes. 'You know,' she said slowly, 'there's a bed downstairs that we've never slept in,' she walked two fingers up his arm, tickling him, 'we could … go down … and I could show you _all_ the ways I really need you. Every.' she kissed him, 'last,' she kissed him again, 'one.' She gave him a long, lingering kiss.

'I'm game,' he murmured, once they'd broken apart - he took hold of her hands and pulled her out of the office and down to his new home, kissing her the whole way.

* * *

The next morning, the team had assembled in Angel's office and we're listening to the breakdown on where they were on saving Matthew Fries and - more worryingly - what the hell had happened to Gunn.

'It's very simple, really,' Lilah told them. 'Gunn agreed to let us enhance his mind with a comprehensive knowledge of the law. This is a law firm - Wonderbread - you're going to have to have a lawyer if you're gonna get by.'

'You're a lawyer,' Angel pointed out to her.

She laughed, 'sorry - I should spell it out. I meant you're going to need a lawyer that you trust.' There was a tense moment as everybody glanced across at Gunn … wondering if they still trusted him. She shrugged her shoulders, 'me - I'm evil, I make no bones about it. But Gunn's one of the good guys. You got your own whitehat lawyer - this is a good thing for you. Another asset The Senior Partners have generously bestowed.'

'They keep bestowing assets on us,' Angel said through clenched teeth, 'and none of them are going to be free in the end. What's the price of Gunn's upgrade, huh? What will it cost us down the line?'

That just made her laugh even harder. 'You've all already made your deal with the devil. There's not much point drawing lines in the sand now.'

'Look,' Gunn said, getting to his feet, 'It's me here. They didn't evil me up. All I got stuck in my head was the law …' he frowned, 'and a messload of Gilbert and Sullivan for some reason.'

'Standard practice,' Lilah assured them all, 'great for elocution.'

'But you did this without asking us,' Wesley said.

Gunn gave him an amused look, 'mother, may I?'

'Without telling us!' Fred accused.

'Because I knew you'd freak.'

'And what does that tell you?' Angel asked him. 'When you start keeping secrets from the people who matter to you because you know they wouldn't understand … that's the point where you're usually making a mistake. How can you possibly know they didn't put something else in there?'

''Cause I saw the man in the whiteroom,' Gunn explained, 'he does a lot of scary stuff but lying aint one of them. I can sing for Lorne if you want? Give him a little Pirates of Penzance … all of it, actually.'

'I would also point out that Gunn did save the day,' Lilah said, 'without once resorting to violence.' She smirked across at Angel, 'how'd you do?'

Lorne sighed, wearily, 'Of course, saving the day meant getting the scumbag who was ready to sacrifice his own son off on a technicality and then returning said son to said scumbag.'

But Wesley assured him that between Fred and himself they could disable the container and neutralise the virus, the boy would not be in any danger. And Gunn pointed out that Fries was going to have to dial down criminal activities until this thing came to trial again - which Gunn could now draw out for months.

'And there is one final ray of sunshine,' Lilah told them, 'the cult Fries got the virus from - The Black Tomorrow - were comprehensively shut down for good last night. That avenue is closed to him. He wants to hold the city hostage to avoid jail time next time around … he's going to have to find alternative means.'

'Someone shut down The Black Tomorrow?' Fred asked, sounding surprised, 'yesterday?'

'Killed every last one of them.'

'Who did that?' Gunn asked. Lilah smiled her shark's smile. 'Some old friends of yours, actually.'

'Doyle and Cordy?' Gunn sounded surprised, he looked around at the others - seeing he was not alone, 'damn! They must have got themselves some serious firepower.'

Lilah grinned in wicked delight. 'Oh you don't know the half of it … you know, I think you guys are gonna make it work here. Yay team!' She walked away, leaving them all alone. They did not look like they had scored a victory, the looked like events were still weighing heavily on all their conscience.

'Is this gonna be our lives now?' Fred asked the men, 'fighting our own employees, our own clients. While Doyle and Cordy get on with what really matters? Are we really gonna do any good?'

'Yes we are,' Angel said to her. He picked up the package that had been delivered a couple of days ago - he still hadn't opened it, he didn't know why. 'Wolfram and Hart is a powerful weapon - and we're gonna figure out how to wield it. Let them play their game - 'cause we're gonna play our own.' He ripped the envelope open, 'we do the work - our way - one thing at a time. We deal…' an amulet fell out of the package and fell to the floor. 'With whatever comes next.'

He had barely finished his sentence when the amulet suddenly glowed with a bright light. A black whirlwind erupted from it, blowing the papers around on Angel's desk. Then the ashen wind began to glow with flecks of orange - like embers of a fire - and a shape began to materialise inside of it. The skeletal form of a man began to take shape and then gradually filled out: muscle, skin, clothes … and then there was a man standing there - yelling with pain. It was a man dressed all in black, with a long black leather coat - and bleached blonde hair. He doubled over, panting - and then glared up at the team, ferociously. The team stared back.

'Spike?' Wesley said, softly.

'Spike,' Angel confirmed - his voice was angry.

Harmony's head popped round the door, a big, hopeful smile on her face. 'Blondie Bear?'

* * *

**A/N Next episode is 'Just Rewards' - I hope to begin posting it on Friday, but I am planning on pulling an all nighter to watch the UK election on Thursday and, if the results are as awful as current polling suggests, I might be spending the entire weekend too depressed to get out of bed. So expect it when you see it - sometime in the next week. **


	6. Just Rewards: Part One

**Just Rewards**

_Part One_

Cordelia turned her head on the pillow as she slipped back towards consciousness. She slowly opened her eyes, blinked them a few times and then smiled when she saw Doyle lying beside her. Rolling closer to him, she wrapped an arm across his chest and kissed him on his jawbone. 'Morning,' she murmured.

He turned slightly, twisting his shoulders so he was facing her from the neck up. 'Morning,' he mumbled back, his voice was still thick with sleep. 'Do we have to get up?'

'Not yet,' she kissed his shoulder, 'not if we don't want to.' He twisted back so his body was at a more natural angle and closed his eyes again. 'Good.'

Cordelia smiled again, closing her own eyes and wrapping her arm around him even tighter, curling her body against his. 'Do you think it's weird?' she asked him, her voice still soft and sleepy, 'being here? Being back here after all this time?'

''S a little bit weird,' he agreed. He wriggled round so he was facing her. 'This used to be Angel's bed. That's weird. Remember how many times we had to chain him up on it?'

She giggled, 'yeah.'

'I wonder if that'll happen to me - now it's mine?' Doyle yawned.

Cordy giggled again, 'play your cards right,' she said. Doyle stopped yawning.

...

Afterwards, when they had finally got up - and been in the shower, they sat at the table in their dressing gowns and had breakfast. 'You know what your place is missing?' Cordelia said, as she headed back into the kitchen to get more coffee, 'a ghost. A handy ghost - who cooks and cleans and fetches things for you. Honestly you should think about getting one.'

'Yeah...' Doyle said, absently, as he read his morning paper, 'I'll get right on that whole bricking someone up alive inside the wall thing. Right away.'

'Oh, Doyle,' she said as she returned with the coffee pot, 'there are kinder and quicker ways to murder someone.'

'Yeah, but how can y' be sure their immortal soul'll stick around to pour your coffee? … it's a minefield.'

She smiled and took a sip of her drink, 'is there anything interesting in your paper?'

He turned the page, the newspaper rustling in his hand as he did. 'Uhm…' he had just spotted something … something that was definitely interesting but not necessarily good. A small article, right at the bottom of the page. He squinted at it … surely he was misunderstanding?

'What?' She asked, 'what are you looking at?'

He glanced up at her, 'I think maybe you should read it, darlin' - 'cause I'm not making any sense o' it.'

With a confused frown she reached out and took the newspaper off him, 'what am I looking at?'

'Bottom o' the page - in the corner.'

'Uhuh - court news. Why?'

'Just read it.'

'Shock mistrial at the hearing of Corbin Fries, yesterday,' Cordy read, 'so?'

'Keep readin'.'

'Mr. Fries, who was facing charges of extortion, kidnap and human trafficking, got a last minute reprieve when the trial was deemed unlawful at the eleventh hour. The judge was forced to recuse herself from proceedings when it was revealed by Wolfram and Hart attorney at law, Charles Gunn, that ….' she stopped reading and looked up. '_Charles Gunn?_' she said, blankly. 'Gunn? Is now an attorney at law?'

'That's what the paper says.'

'What? How? _What_?'

Doyle shrugged. 'Somethin' must have … I mean they must have … well, to be honest with y' I haven't the first clue, darlin' - but it's safe to say that Wolfram and Hart has already worked it's mojo, changin' Gunn to suit their needs.'

'They only just went there,' Cordelia breathed, 'whatever was done to him … how could he let them? So quickly?'

'And what are they gonna do next?' Doyle asked.

* * *

Spike doubled over in pain, gasping. Everything hurt - everything was confused. The last thing he remembered was Buffy's face - the tears in her eyes, her proud smile - as she realised what he was about to do, about to sacrifice. She had held his hand and kept on holding on even as he had burst into flames. '_I love you,'_

'_No you don't - but thanks for saying it.' _

And then there had been nothing - nothing at all: no consciousness, no pain, no suffering, no peace - just utter blankness. Until now. And now there was pain. Still doubled over he stared up at the faces of the strangers, his brow furrowed with discomfort and confusion verging on panic. These people - a young woman, two men - some green guy and ..._Harmony_? She had her hands on her hips. 'What the hell are you doing here, Spike?' she demanded.

He just stared and gasped - he didn't have the answer to that. He didn't even know where 'here' was. And he was in too much pain to figure it out.

'This is Spike?' the tall guy in the sharp suit asked, staring at the vampire, '_the _Spike?'

'Wait a minute - who's…' the strange young woman was looking between the men, confused. Spike stared around at everyone too - he felt like a cornered animal - and was ready to lash out in his defence. It seemed the green guy was understanding the hunted and cornered feeling - reading how close the vampire was to attacking out of fear, because he spoke to him in soothing tones. 'easy Slim,' he said softly. 'Easy. No one's gonna hurt you.'

'Speak for yourself green jeans,' the suit retorted not taking his eyes off Spike. Spike looked between them - still in too much pain, too dazed to work out what the bloody hell was going on.

'OK,' the strange woman said, sounding annoyed, 'would somebody please tell me who…'

'William the Bloody,' the other - human - man said. 'He's a vampire. One of the worst recorded. Second only to …'

'Me.'

Oh God. No. Spike heard that voice. Knew that voice. Of all the Nancy Boys in all the world… he turned and looked at Angel, so disgusted he was forgetting the pain. Angel stared back at him. Their eyes met - there was that old challenge, rivalry - hatred. Everything that had ever been between them - every grudge, every fight … and Buffy. All in that stare. 'But you're dead.'

'_Duh!'_ Harmony's vapid voice cut through the intensity. 'Who here isn't?' She looked around at all the other people in the room, 'apart from her and him and him and …' she peered at Lorne, 'what are you again?'

Spike ignored her - staring only at Angel. Bloody Angel. He morphed into his vamp face and lunged towards his rival, snarling … and then passed straight through him and fell into the desk.

Angel looked surprised and stared down at himself, wondering what had happened - and then turned to see where Spike had got to. The blonde vampire was now standing in Angel's desk - literally _in_ it. His torso was sticking out the top but his legs had disappeared inside the wood. He stared down at himself, took in his new position - and then stared up at the others. 'Bugger.'

* * *

Xandra turned the corner and fled down the alley - she could feel her heart thumping inside her chest, her lungs felt they were about to explode and her legs trembled beneath her like jelly. But she couldn't stop - they were gaining on her. Getting closer. She could hear their boots. It was broad daylight - she couldn't believe they were coming for her in broad daylight. She'd always heard stories - everyone had … heard the horror stories. But she hadn't realised they had grown so bold as to hunt in broad daylight. In the human world.

Her purse slipped from her shoulders and she heard it fall - but she didn't go back for it. She ran further on - hoping she could find shelter or someone to help her or … instead she hit up against a chain link fence. She stared up at in desperation … this couldn't be happening! Glancing over her shoulder, she made up her mind - and started trying to scale the fence … but the boots grew louder and she knew they had found her.

She had just reached the top, was just throwing her first leg over the top - ready to jump down the other side - when she felt hands reach out and grab her. She was pulled back down to the ground - and then she saw the blade swing...

* * *

Spike stared down at the missing half of his body. 'What? What's happened to me?'

'Well, I'm no doctor,' Harmony said helpfully, 'but I think you're a ghost.'

'I'm no - I'm no bloody ghost,' he said angrily.

'Well, you're the one sticking out of a desk, pal!'

But the rest of the team were currently more interested in how he was here rather than what exactly he was. Wesley picked up the amulet and held it in his hands, frowning. 'He came from this,' he told the others.

'What is it?' Fred asked peering at the necklace. Angel looked at it - and then looked away. 'Something I gave to Buffy before -'

At the sound of her name, Spike stopped worrying about his incorporeality and his head snapped up. 'Buffy,' he demanded of Angel, walking out of the desk and back towards the great tit. 'Is she -' had she made it out of the hellmouth OK? Had it worked the way it was supposed to? God, but he couldn't bear another moment if he had lost her again.

'She's OK,' Angel told him, tersely.

'Where - where is she?'

'In Europe - last I heard from her.' His voice was hard and unhelpful. Spike was supposed to be gone - forever - and now he was here. In Angel's office of all places - and wanting _Buffy_. That was supposed to be over. Spike was supposed to be gone.

Spike had wrapped his arms around his chest as if he were cold - or as if the pain was so intense that holding himself was the only way he could bear it. His brow was furrowed again and his voice was laboured. 'Wanna see her … wanna talk to her.'

'That's gonna be tough.' Still unhelpful. Spike was still meant to be gone.

'You can't keep her from me.'

'She's not mine to keep - or yours.'

'Says you…' he got up in Angel's face.

...

'_I love you,' _She had held his hand as he had burned. She had believed in him - believed he could be a good man, given him every chance … and he had proved her right. And she had been so proud of him. She hadn't wanted to leave him, in the end - he had had to make her go.

...

'You got no idea what we had,' he had to force the words out, was choking on the pain and the anger and the cold.

'You never had her,' Angel said from between his teeth. Spike got right up in his face. 'More than you, you poncy…'

'Oh my god!' again Harmony's vapid voice cut through the room. 'You and the slayer? - you actually? Yeeuch!' She looked like she was about to cry. 'I always knew you had that twisted obsession with her but Yeeuch! That's just … yeeuch!' she stamped towards the door - then turned back to yell at him again, 'I…' but she had nothing to say - and just shuddered at the thought, once more, before storming out of the room.

Spike watched her go. 'I must be in hell,' he muttered.

'Ah - no,' the green guy said to him, 'L.A - but a lot of people make that mistake.'

'So Spike and Buffy are…?' Fred whispered to Wes and Gunn.

'He was, uhm, an ally of hers - for some time,' Wesley said to them, 'that's what Angel told me … that's all Angel told me.'

'So he's a good guy vampire?' Gunn checked, 'like Angel?'

'He's nothing like me!' Angel snapped, overhearing the hushed conversation between his friends.

'Got that right,' Spike hissed between his teeth. 'What have you done to me?' He looked around the office, 'what is this place?' He looked at the team, 'who the bloody hell are you people? What the bloody hell is happening?' He yelled.

* * *

Doyle and Cordy were now up in the office, still clearing it and trying to turn it back into the work environment it had once been. It was weird - now there was no Angel, either one of them, or both of them, could have the inner office - but neither of them wanted it. They felt more at home in the outer office - their office - the space they had first shared, where they had first fallen in love.

'We can just use broody boy's bear pit to take clients into - you know when they walk in off the street,' Cordy said, 'give them more privacy when they tell us what fiend of hell is trying to kill 'em. But we should work out here - it's sunnier - it's got the coffee maker - and it means there'll always be someone to greet the clients when they come through our door.'

'Agreed,' Doyle said, moving some of their books around. 'But about that coffee maker…'

'What?'

'Well … it's not so much the maker, just we don't have any coffee left for today.'

'I'll have to change the address on the company order form,' Cordelia said, 'get the beans delivered here again. And I need to ring up and order new business cards. Later on you should update the website - make sure it's got our new address and phone number … and maybe remove any mention of - uhm - personnel who no longer work with us.'

'Got it … but why later on?' He looked across at her, 'why don't I do it now?'

'Because right now you're going out to get us some good coffees. I'm feeling a mochachino.'

Doyle smiled, 'right you are, Princess.' He grabbed his jacket and gave her a swift kiss goodbye, 'I'll be back in two shakes of a … shakin' somethin'. Don't get into any trouble while I'm out.'

'You either.'

'Hey - I am a trouble free zone.' He kissed her again and walked out of the door. She smiled as she watched him go and then got back to her sorting.

* * *

The team had moved up to Fred's lab - and taken the newly arrived and incorporeal Spike with them. Wesley was looking at the amulet through the microscope, Lorne was standing watching over his shoulder. 'Honey of a story,' the demon said, 'the vampire slayer both men loved, both men lost. Oh I could sell that to any studio in a heartbeat. I see Depp and Bloom - but then I see them a lot.'

Wesley stopped what he was doing and turned to stare at Lorne, conveying with his gaze that the demon was not helping. 'Sorry,' Lorne apologised, sheepishly. 'Hazard of running the entertainment division. I gotta get out more.'

Spike was stood in the centre of the lab, his arms still folded defensively. Fred walked around him, she had an electronic handheld device - a bit like a Geiger counter - which she was using to scan him. Angel and Gunn sat at the workbench behind, trying to make sense of the readouts.

Spike watched Fred as she circled him, her scanner beeping. 'So what are you then?' he asked her, 'Scanner girl?'

'I'm Fred, I head up the Wolfram and Hart Science Department.'

He raised an eyebrow. He'd heard that name - he thought it was a law firm. And he thought it was supposed to represent most of the worst evil in the known universe.

'It did,' Angel said, sounding irritated. 'But now I'm in charge.'

Spike scoffed in response, 'are you now?'

Fred finished her scanning and turned to the others. 'Weird,' she told them, 'I'm getting electromagnetic readings consistent with spiritual entities, but there's no ectoplasmic matrix.'

'Meaning?' Gunn asked her.

'Ectoplasm is what makes ghosts visible to the human eye,' she explained. 'If he's a ghost, technically we shouldn't be able to see him.' She picked up a folder and began to write notes in it. 'And I'm detecting brainwave activity.'

'On Spike?' Angel chuckled, disbelievingly, 'that is weird!'

Fred gave her boss a disapproving look. 'Also ghosts generally absorb light and heat making the area around them a few degrees cooler. Spike's radiating heat.'

'Think I'm hot, do you?' Spike asked her with a shadow of his old flirtatious smirk - though he was too pissed off and disoriented to actually bring his A game. Good job he wasn't seriously trying - because Fred wasn't impressed. A bloke's ego might get hurt if he gave it his all and got nothing. She wrinkled her nose at him. 'Lukewarm,' she told him. 'Just above room temperature.'

'Well,' Spike looked around at them all, 'what the hell am I then?'

Wesley looked up from his microscope and gave his verdict. Whatever was going on, Spike was clearly linked to the amulet. It must have held his - essence - for lack of a better word. He looked up at the ghost … vampire. 'Do you have any memory of a strange sensation when it released its energy?''

Spike looked at him like he was an idiot and chose to answer with sarcasm. Strange sensations like skin and muscle burning away from the bone? Organs exploding in his chest? Eyeballs melting in their sockets? Nope - no memory at all … but thanks for asking.

'OK, he's connected to the amulet,' Angel said, his voice was still irritated. Spike was supposed to be gone. 'Last I heard, it was buried deep within the hellmouth. How did it end up here?'

'Maybe he's here for a reason,' Fred suggested, 'a higher purpose or something he's destined for. Sent to us by The Powers That Be to help us or…'

But Spike poured cold water on that idea and gave it short shrift. Who the hell were the PTB to do that? What gave them the bloody right? A man should be able to die in peace without some high and mighty deciding it wasn't his time. You would think saving the world would be enough to earn him some rest …

'Spike?' Fred's tone was worried - the vampire… ghost was fading before their very eyes, going transparent and blinking in and out of visibility. Spike looked down at himself, 'oh balls,' he said - before he vanished completely. Fred rushed over to scan the spot he had been standing in - hoping to find some trace of him. 'What did he mean 'saving the world'?' she asked Angel.

Angel looked uncomfortable. 'What? Oh - that - well… Buffy did most of the work. Well, he helped ...but…'

Spike materialised at the other side of the room - and stared around in confusion. He had no idea how he had ended up over there.

'where did you go?' Gunn asked him. He didn't answer. 'Don't you know?' Fred asked sounding concerned.

'I'm - I was…' he caught sight of Angel, 'this is your fault!' he said furiously, pointing at him. 'You brought that bloody amulet to Sunnydale. You would have been the one to use it until you chickened out.'

Angel got to his feet, 'what did you …'

'You heard me,' Spike taunted walking up to him and getting in his face. 'You left town in the nick of time, didn't you? Before the death and mayhem. Abandoned the woman you '_claim'_ to love…'

'That was her call,' Angel said, his fists were clenched. 'Wasn't my choice.'

'And this bloody hell wasn't mine,' Spike said through gritted teeth. 'I'm not you. I don't give a piss about atonement or destiny. Just because I've got me a soul doesn't mean I'm gonna let myself be led around by…'

'What?' the whole team were staring at Angel now, in amazement. 'Spike has a soul?' Wesley asked. 'You didn't say.'

Angel glanced around at his friends, flustered. 'Didn't seem worth mentioning,' he said to them. Spike was supposed to be gone. Who cared if a dead vampire turned ghost had a soul? What difference did it make?

Gunn was frowning - but Spike had started to smile, delighted at the revelation that Angel had kept this particular fact a secret. 'Or perhaps captain forehead wasn't feeling so special anymore,' he suggested, walking back up to Angel and grinning into his face. 'Annoyed I've crashed his exclusive little club. Not the only vampire with a soul in the world…'

'You're not in the world, _Casper_.'

...

Angel stormed out of the lab and headed back to the lobby. But it didn't work - Spike materialised behind him. 'Running away again,' he jibed, 'nice new M.O. I can see why heroes like you get rewarded with shiny new glass and chrome. Why didn't I think of that?'

'I'm not responsible for what happened to you,' Angel snapped. Why? Why did the peroxided pest have to wind up here, of all places? Was there not someone else he could haunt? Jeez - he'd prefer it if Blondie Bear went off and haunted _Buffy_ as long as it got him out from under Angel's feet.

As he walked past the front desk, Harmony reminded him it was nearly time for his three o'clock. 'Not now, Harmony,' he said gloomily - trying to get away from Spike. But Harmony's presence only gave the idiot something else to gripe about. 'And here you've even managed to get my ex-tumble, the littlest vampire, fetching coffee for you. Nice perks for the sell out.'

'Little tip Spike, try not to talk about things you don't understand.'

'I'm not the prat here,' Spike told him. Angel rolled his eyes - of course he was - he was a born prat! 'I know you Angel. What do you think you're doing. Made some devil's bargain to take over this company …'

'You got no idea why I'm here,' Angel interrupted him, 'and it's gonna stay that way. My affairs are not your business.'

'Right - not my business. Don't want it to be. But that doesn't mean I can't see the writing on the wall. You're not in control here. You're just a blind, stupid …' he glanced over Angels shoulder, 'groxlar beast.'

'What?' Angel was confused - that wasn't where he thought that sentence was going. But Spike pointed past him and Angel turned to see a giant horned demon walking out of the elevator.

* * *

Doyle came out of the coffee shop, he had two Styrofoam takeout cups in a little cupholder - and he'd bought them a pastry each as well. Sure money was tight but … they weren't that broke that a couple of Danishes would put them in the poorhouse. They were just setting up and starting out together, they deserved a sweet treat.

He crossed the road and headed back towards the office, but - just as he passed the end of a dark alleyway between two buildings - he caught scent of an all too familiar and unwelcome metallic tang in the air. He glanced around him - the street was pretty empty and no one was paying him any mind - and he slipped into his demon face, using his heightened senses to check that he wasn't wrong. He wasn't wrong. He could smell it clear as day. Blood. Lots of it. But - he sniffed deeper - not human, not quite.

He shook off the spikes and ducked down the alleyway. His heart was heavy. He didn't want to see what he knew he was about to find. Sure enough there was blood spattered all the way up the sides of the buildings - a more deep purplish colour than human blood, but still recognisable for what it was. There was a lot of it - and the way it was spread around, high up the buildings and right down the alley, suggested that it was more of a massacre that had taken place here than a quick hit.

He passed a fallen purse on the ground, glanced at it, but kept on walking. His stomach was now clenched, tightly - now knowing he was going to find a woman, and she couldn't be far away. He found her at the foot of a chainlink fence - her eyes were wide open, staring and glassy - and she was lying in a pool of her own blood. She had been butchered - for fun. 'Oh, darlin',' he said sadly, looking down at her, 'what happened to you?'

He took out his phone and rang the office. 'It's me,' he said when Cordelia answered, her voice full of hope that it might be a paying client. 'There's somethin' I need you to come and see. Bring the pickup.' He gave Cordy the address, hung up and then squatted down beside the still and lifeless body. 'Who did this to y'?' he asked her softly. Of course - he got no reply.

* * *

Angel launched himself at the groxlar and threw a punch. But the demon only hit him back - much harder - and the vampire was knocked to the floor. Spike ran up and tried to hit the groxlar beast - but his fist passed harmlessly through its head. It didn't even notice him. 'Oh brilliant.'

The demon had moved in to attack Angel, again - it was stronger than Angel and he had to keep moving, trading the occasional blow and making sure it didn't get to hit back in kind. He ran up the side of the wall, flipped off it backwards, landing behind the groxlar and then grabbed it round the neck - snapping it backwards and then throwing the demon against the wall. It was unconscious - but not dead - it was still breathing heavily. But at least it wasn't an immediate threat.

Angel stared around the lobby, annoyed. 'Somebody wanna tell me how a groxlar beast got past security? I don't have time for this.'

'Of course not,' Spike sniped, 'man's gotta stay focused on profit margins and power lunches.'

Harmony came out from behind her front desk, looking troubled, 'boss- '

Angel ignored her. 'Yeah, Spike. I got a business to run. That means responsibilities. Appointments to keep.'

'That was your three o'clock,' Harmony told him, pointing down at the unconscious groxlar.

'That …' he stared down at the demon, hearing Spike laughing at him. 'I'm meeting with groxlars?' he demanded, furious, 'they eat babies!'

'Just their heads!' Harmony pointed out, 'you were supposed to open negotiations with his clan.'

'Negotiations for what?'

'Get 'em to stop eating baby heads,' Gunn told him, walking up to the scene and taking in all the mayhem.

'Oh - so that's good,' Angel smiled - then turned and looked at the demon he had beaten unconscious, 'oh - so that's bad.'

But Gunn thought not. The groxlar clan respected people who took a strong opening position. This could work out quite well for them. 'Wolfram and Hart didn't just jack me up with the human laws,' he explained, 'also demon laws from every dimension.' He smiled ruefully, he should probably have briefed Angel on the groxlar meeting but they had got distracted by … he eyed Spike … events. And on top of that he had been implementing the new company reforms - mostly staff overhaul. He'd had to fire 40 employees so far.

He and Angel headed towards Gunn's office, 'how's that going?' Angel asked him. Gunn shrugged - as well as expected. He'd had tears, anger, venomous death threats. He put his briefcase on the desk and opened it up - taking something out. 'Caught an associate we laid off trying to smuggle this out of the voodoo department.' He held up a little black voodoo doll in a sharp suit - it had pins sticking from it. Angel took it off him. 'Nice likeness.'

'God this place just goes on and on, doesn't it?' Spike appeared in the doorway, his arms still folded tightly as if to ward off the cold. He looked deeply unimpressed, 'like a sodding theme park attraction.'

'I'm in a meeting, Spike.'

'Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't care.'

Gunn ignored the vampire in the doorway and told his boss they were ruffling a lot dangerous feathers at the moment. A backlash was to be expected.

'We'll just have to ride out the ripples,' Angel said.

'I'm sensing a ripple on its way now,' Gunn told him as a lawyer, wearing a yellow spotted tie, stormed into the office. Angel and Gunn stared at him expectantly. He introduced himself. 'Novac - sir. What's this about you shutting down the internment acquisitions department?'

Angel looked at Gunn, nonplussed. 'Grave robbing,' Gunn translated.

'Listen, I know you fellas are in charge now,' Novac said to them, 'and you're doing a bang up job. I'm with you 110% - but that department brings in muchos revenue for the company.'

'Well we'll just have to tighten our belts and do without,' Angel said, keeping his tone pleasant, but not allowing for argument. But Novac was still arguing. The new boss wasn't getting it. IAD was under contract to deliver fresh bodies to Magnus Hainsley. 'You do know who he is, right?'

Angel glanced at Gunn. Gunn shrugged. Novac sighed. 'Magnus Hainsley. He's one of our oldest clients. Big potatoes. We stop delivering and he is not gonna be …' he considered the word he wanted. There wasn't really a word to describe it. 'Thrilled.'

'Then he's probably not gonna like it when you advise him he's no longer our client,' Angel said. Novac gulped and turned a queasy shade of green. 'Me?'

'You got it, counsellor. You tell Mr…' he cleared his throat.

'Hainsley,' Gunn prompted.

'Hainsley that Wolfram and Hart is under new management and out of the grave robbing business.'

'Me?'

'Go.'

Novac made for the door, shuddering at the thought of his latest assignment. 'You don't have to take that from him, mate,' Spike said to him as he got to the door.

'Stay out of this, Spike,' Angel said through gritted teeth. 'You don't work here.'

'Damn right I don't. Look at you! This is what you do now? Delegate your dirty work to spineless, low level flunkies,' he glanced at Novac, 'no offence.' He turned back to Angel, 'the mighty hero reduced to a bloody bureaucrat. If a certain slayer could see you now...'

'Get out of here, Spike.'

Spike was all too glad to comply. It was cruel enough punishment being stuck there whilst Angel played chairman of the boring - but hell if he was gonna spend his after life in Angel's stinking city.

* * *

Cordelia took a photograph of the body, the flash blinding them both for a moment in the dimness of the alley. She took another from a different angle and then went to take pictures of the blood splatter. 'This is such a mess,' she said, taking another photo, 'who would do something like this?'

'She's a demon,' Doyle said, sadly, he was crouched beside the body, gently going through her pockets to see if he could find any clues. 'Lots o' people kill demons without asking questions first.'

Cordelia glanced over at him, '_we _don't,' she said. 'And we'll get to the bottom of this - I promise.'

'Yeah…' he examined the marks on the body - the wounds. 'What do you reckon caused these?' he said, 'what kind o' weapon?'

Cordelia went back over to him and crouched down beside him. She pulled the demon girl's shirt away so she could examine the different markings. 'I think, whatever there was, there was more than one,' she said. She gently rolled the girl over so she could look at her back, 'see all the different angles? She was attacked by a group. Some of the cuts are deep - but with small, clean entry wounds - probably swords. But these …' she indicated bigger, messier gashes, 'and the one on the back of her head - that's axe work. I reckon it was the head trauma that killed her. But, judging by the amount of blood, she didn't sustain that until they'd already done serious damage. Whoever did this - they didn't just get the job done. They really went to town on her.'

'Sick bastards,' Doyle muttered under his breath. Cordelia glanced at him, her expression was worried. Finding the girl like this was upsetting him - and he wouldn't feel any better until they'd found what had done this to her and stopped it. 'Are there any more clues?' she asked.

'There was a purse further down the alley,' he told her, 'probably hers.'

'Right,' Cordy said softly, 'well you go get that and put it in the truck - I'll fetch the tarp.'

'You need help movin' her?'

She shook her head, 'It's OK - I got it. Take the camera and her purse back to the truck. I'll get her into the back.'

Doyle took the demon girl's purse from the ground and the camera off Cordy, and headed back to the driver's seat. Cordy got the tarp from the pick up truck, and went back to the alley. She wrapped the demon girl up gently and then picked her up. The girl was a literal dead weight, but with her new slayer strength Cordy barely felt her. She placed the body in the bed of the pickup and then climbed into the passenger seat. 'Let's get back to the office,' she said, quietly. Doyle nodded and turned on the ignition, before driving them the few blocks to his new home.

* * *

Angel sat in his chair behind his big desk and stared out of the window. Connor was playing on the mat on the floor. Wesley walked in to speak to his boss - saw the look on his face and decided to leave it. 'Wesy!' Connor cried out in delight. Wesley smiled and knelt down beside the little boy. 'Hello, Connor,' he said, 'what are you building?'

'Tower! Wesy help.'

'Alright…' he began to place the blocks one on top of each other, helping Connor balance them. Angel sighed deeply. Wesley looked up at him, and then carried on with the building.

'It could have been me, Wesley,' Angel said after a long time - staring out of the window.

'Is that what's on your mind?' Wesley asked.

'It was supposed to me.'

'You're not feeling guilty … sorry Connor,' he turned back to the little boy who was annoyed that his playmate was not giving him his undivided attention. Angel got to his feet and came round the other side of the desk, smiling down at them as they played together. 'No - I don't feel guilty about what happened to Spike. But Wolfram and Hart gave me that amulet. They must have expected me to use it - and they must have known it would do to me what it did to Spike.'

'So why give you the keys to the kingdom - if only to kill you right away?'

'It doesn't make sense. I'm supposed to be a long term investment. Their aim is to make me fight on their side of the apocalypse. Not trap me in a locket and make me incorporeal. What are The Senior Partners playing at?'

'Maybe there's dissent in their ranks,' Wesley suggested. 'Or maybe there's another player in the game they - and we - don't know anything about. Then again maybe they got exactly what they were after.'

'Spike,' Angel said - sounding surprised.

Wesley nodded - maybe it was Spike all along that … But Angel wasn't listening, he was looking at the doorway, where Spike had just appeared. 'What are you doing? I thought you left town?'

Spike looked supremely annoyed. He had tried to leave town - over and over again. But every time he got to the city limits he kept popping back to the law firm. It felt like his insides were being yanked out.

'That makes sense,' Wesley nodded. The amulet was the property of Wolfram and Hart. It was bound to this place and - as Spike was connected to it...

'Hey, I'm nobody's bloody property, Percy. So what? I'm stuck here forever now?' He glared at Angel. 'I bet you're loving this.'

'Knowing you're gonna haunt me 'til the end of time. Mmm it's a dream come true.'

Harmony appeared in the doorway, just then, to tell him that the lawyer - Novac- was back from Hainsley's. Angel nodded and told her to send him - she looked reluctant but headed back out to the lobby to give the instruction.

Two men entered the room carrying three buckets of sloppy, red liquid. A yellow spotted tie hung over the edge of one of them, covered in blood. Angel stared, 'what is…' The men put the buckets on his desk and then walked out. Spike smirked. 'Ol' buckets here was right,' he said to Angel. 'You're doing a bang up job.'


	7. Just Rewards: Part Two

_Part Two_

They had parked the pickup in the underground garage and then used that entrance to get into Doyle's apartment - checking there was no one around to see them moving the body. They had laid her out on the table - still wrapped in the tarp - and Doyle had lit a candle, placing it near her feet. Then they had gone upstairs to start their research.

Doyle was on the Demons Demons Demons database, typing in the characteristics of the dead girl, hoping to get a hit. Cordelia was on the sofa going through her purse.

_Black hair, _Doyle typed, _greyish skin, purple blood. _A question popped up on the screen: horn like protrusions? He closed his eyes and tried to picture her face - but all he could see were her own wide, staring eyes. 'Hey, Cordy, did the girl have horn like protrusions?' He asked his girlfriend.

Cordy wrinkled up her face in thought, as she opened up the girl's wallet. 'I don't remember,' she said.

Doyle looked uncomfortable, 'I guess I could go check…'

'Or…' Cordy pulled a photo out of the dead girl's wallet, 'you can just look on this - I'd call those horn like protrusions, wouldn't you?'

Doyle took the picture from Cordy and looked - it depicted the dead girl and another young girl of the same species. It had been taken in one of those photobooths you found at the drugstore. They had their arms around each other and were laughing - just like two normal kids. Normal kids that just happened to be demons. They each had little black bumps around their temples and going up onto their foreheads - the bumps got bigger the higher they went but they were never full on horns, like Lorne had.

He clicked 'yes' to the question. There was a beep whilst the database processed the information - and then the screen came up, showing a picture of a demon very like the girls in the photo. 'Goyra demons,' he read out.

'What does it say about them?' Cordy asked, still sifting through the contents of the purse.

'They're native to Ohio and the Midwest,' he told her, scanning the screen, 'they have an extended lifespan - about 500 years. They reach maturity at around 150.'

'So she looked young but was actually well over a century - maybe even as old as Angel?' Cordelia asked.

'To us she was old,' Doyle shrugged, 'but to her people she was probably just outta her teens. Had her whole life in front o' her.'

'Any reason anybody would want to hurt a Goyra? Did they … I dunno … eat baby heads or anything?'

'Nope,' Doyle replied, still reading the screen, 'mostly herbivores from what it says here. Some fish. Have been branching out trying other meats in the past couple o' hundred years or so but … y'know, nothin' people wouldn't eat. More like they're assimilatin' into human culture as more humans arrive in the area…' he looked thoughtful, 'I mean - if this girl is over a century in age, there probably weren't that many people in Ohio when she was born. Her parents Couldda been born before the Mayflower. I think they just kept themselves to themselves as long as they could - as long as it was just native humans and native demons … but human bein's spread like a rash. Once the Europeans got here and started changin' everythin', they had no choice but to adapt.'

'She seems to have adapted pretty well,' Cordelia said, 'there's an address here - she had an apartment not far from here. If she had a place then she probably had a job… She was called Xandra,' she said, looking at the I.D.

'She was just a person,' Doyle said, 'just not a human one… that's what I'm gettin' from the database. No particular powers, no weird demonic rituals, absolutely nothin' that makes 'em stand out beyond the fact they live a long time … just people. Ordinary people that were Goyra not human.'

'Does it say anything about how they - uh - inter their dead?' Cordy asked him. He glanced up at her. 'We can't just leave her on your dining room table,' she explained, 'but if they have any beliefs or customs … we should probably try and follow them. It's all we can do for her now - that and find whoever did this to her and stop them.'

Doyle nodded, thoughtfully, 'I'll look 'em up,' he said, 'if the website doesn't say anythin' then maybe there's somethin' in one o' Wesley's books. I think he's got one on religious practices of different species. Might be worth a look.'

'Right - and once we've … buried her, or whatever, we'll go to her place - see if we can't find something more out there.'

Doyle nodded again - and got on with looking up the burial rites of the Goyra, whilst Cordelia continued to sift through Xandra's purse.

* * *

Angel left his office and went to speak to Harmony on the front desk. 'Harmony, get me Novac's contacts list, close relations, next of kin. And let's be discreet about this for the time being, OK?'

'Discreet?' Harmony looked confused, 'oh - you mean like not tell anyone about bucket-o'-lawyer.'

'Harmony, contact list.'

The elevator bell rang and the door slid open. Gunn stepped out, holding a file, which he handed over to Angel. It was all the info he could find on Magnus Hainsley - turns out Hainsley was a sorcerer. Big time. Rich with old money and even older mojo. He owned a hefty block of shares in Wolfram and Hart and had influence over power players in various sectors, like the entertainment industry and politics.

Angel flipped through the file, 'he's a necromancer,' he groaned. Power over the dead. He hated Necromancers.

He headed back into his office, Gunn following him, and filled Wesley in. Wes looked up from where he was still building a tower with Connor. 'That explains the bodies Wolfram and Hart have been providing him with,' he mused.

'But not what he's doing with them,' Angel said. He looked up and his brow furrowed in irritation. 'Spike - get out of my chair.'

'Make me,' Spike spun the chair around and grinned at Angel. Gunn meanwhile, was frowning at the pails of red slop on Angel's desk. 'What's in the buckets?' he asked.

'Your man, Novac,' Spike said - all too delighted to spread the word. 'Guess he's been - what do you call it? Downsized.'

Angel sighed. Spike was even more irritating than he remembered - and he remembered being very irritated by Spike during the decades they had travelled together. Spike with a soul was no less of an idiot than Spike without. Shouldn't a soul be making a difference? Shouldn't new wanna be hero Spike be more … helpful? 'It's a message from Hainsley,' he explained to Gunn, 'one I'm going to respond to personally.'

'You can't take Hainsley on yourself,' Wesley warned him.

'I can't risk him turning anyone else into chowder.'

The watcher sighed. He handed a last building block to Connor and got to his feet - reminding Angel that he was now the head of a multi- billion dollar company and had all their resources at his disposal - including armed and trained personnel.

'They cramp my style,' Angel said, getting into his private elevator.

'Your style isn't going to cut it with a necromancer,' Wesley pointed out, 'we should probably try and avoid an eye for an eye escalation, here.'

'Not his eyes I'm going for, Wes,' Angel said as the door slid closed.

''I know what you should go for,' Gunn told him. Angel put his hand out and stopped the elevator door from closing. 'It'll hurt him,' Gunn said, 'bad.'

* * *

The private elevator door opened and Angel walked out into his motorpool - past his line of beautiful cars. He headed for a black one - he hadn't tried this one, yet - and opened the driver's door.

'Knew you'd pick the Viper,' Spike said to him - he was already sat in the passenger seat, 'so bloody predictable.'

'Spike, get out of the car.'

But Spike only shook his head. 'No.' This haunting Angel until the end of time idea was starting to sound appealing. He figured he could drive captain forehead starkers, completely out of his gourd. And there wasn't a sodding thing Angel could do about it.

Angel slammed the door of the Viper and walked off to the next car - a silver Camaro. He climbed in behind the wheel, closed the door and then glanced to the side. Spike was already sat beside him. He groaned. Spike smirked and put his hands behind his head, relaxing back into the seat. 'Fancy a road trip. This'll be fun, eh? You and me together. Where are we off to?'

'To see the wizard,' Angel turned the ignition on and drove out of the parking lot.

* * *

Now it was properly dark and the streets were quieter, Doyle and Cordelia had moved Xandra's body back to the pickup and had driven her up into the hills. Doyle had researched the ritual for burying a Goyra and was pretty sure they had everything they would need to bury her according to her customs. Even if they didn't get it quite right - what they would do for her would still be better than leaving her in an alleyway to rot, which was what whoever had killed her had done.

They found a secluded spot - near a copse of trees and pulled the car over. Then they both grabbed a spade from the back of the pickup and went into the underbrush, until they found somewhere that was just right. It would be a pretty spot, once the sun was shining - there were wild flowers and long grasses and in the summer months there would be butterflies and hummingbirds. It was as nice a place as any to be laid to rest.

They began to dig. It was hard work - and hot. Doyle took his jacket off and rolled his sleeves up. Then he slipped into his spikes, to give himself the extra strength and stamina that his demon half afforded him. Otherwise there was no way he could hope to even attempt to keep up with Cordy, and she would end up doing all the work. They would get this done twice as fast if used his own enhanced abilities to help out.

Once they had made the hole long enough and deep enough to hold Xandra properly, they went back to get her. She was now wrapped in a white bedsheet - as a makeshift shroud - and Cordelia had painted the symbols Doyle had found In Wesley's old book onto the cotton. According to the text, the symbols acted as a prayer to guard the departed soul of the Goyra and help them find their way to the land beyond the stars - the Goyra demons' version of heaven.

They gently placed the body into the grave and then Doyle walked around the edge of it pouring out a mixture of herbs in a trail. The Goyra believed the mixture acted as a barrier against evil spirits trying to attack the soul before it could find its way free. They young couple had had to improvise on making it, using sunflower oil, nutmeg and cinnamon - but they weren't too far off how it was supposed to be. Once he'd finished, Doyle put the photo of Xandra and her unknown friend into the grave, with the body - and then Cordelia picked up her spade and began to shovel the earth back into the hole.

Once she was done, she picked a few of the wildflowers from the grass - took out her hairband and used it to tie around the stems, forming a bouquet, and laid it on the fresh mound. They both looked at the newly covered grave. 'You ready to go?' Cordy asked.

'Yeah.'

They headed back to the car, stuck their spades in the back and then drove back into town, now headed for Xandra's apartment.

* * *

Angel and Spike arrived at a very grand house, up in the Hollywood Hills. They were let inside by a butler, an old man in a tux, with a bald head and a moustache. He led them into a spacious foyer, with high ceilings and big windows. 'Do you have an appointment with Mr. Hainsley?' the butler asked them, very courteously.

Spike raised an eyebrow, 'let's just say he sent us an invitation.'

Angel gave him an irritated glance and then turned back to the butler. 'We're -_ I'm_ from Wolfram and Hart.'

The butler nodded and then glanced at Spike expectantly, waiting for his introduction. 'I'm his date,' Spike said. Angel rolled his eyes.

'Mr. Hainsley is with a customer, at the moment,' the butler informed them. 'I'm afraid he does not suffer interruption lightly.'

But Angel was not worried about Hainsley's suffering - and told the butler to interrupt away. The Butler nodded, 'as you wish. Please wait here, gentlemen,' and then left them alone as he went to speak with his boss.

Spike snorted in disgust. 'Oh, life among the power elite,' he scoffed. 'It's all so bloody civilised. Hainsley grinds up one of your people into chum and you drop by for tea.'

'I'm hoping to avoid a body count here,' Angel snapped at him, heading deeper into the lobby. He flipped a light switch and stared around. Spike stared as well. 'No worries, looks like this Hainsley keeps one on hand.' The room adjacent to the lobby had a lot of people in it. But they were all quiet, all still. All dead. They were posed as if they were in a Victorian parlour, taking tea - some seated, some standing around in groups. Music had started to tinkle in the background since Angel had switched on the light.

'Man likes to play with Dollies,' Spike said, scornfully, walking amongst the posed corpses. But Angel shook his head. 'This isn't for him - it's a showroom.'

* * *

Down in the basement of his grand house, Hainsley kept his workshop - and he was working right now. There was a pretty, young woman laid out on a table, which itself was in the centre of a red pentagram painted on the floor. She had on a pink skirt and jacket and a white blouse, which had been opened to expose her abdomen. She was also dead.

Above her, Hainsley was working - his sleeves rolled up. He chanted over the woman in a strange and eerie language. There was a demon in the corner, green and scaly with red, glowing eyes. It was talking, but Hainsley was ignoring it.

'I thought about going older with it,' the demon said, his tone was casual, thoughtful. 'I don't know, more distinguished, kind of a 50 something Shirley Temple Black with it. You know that ultra respectable ambassador to somewhere feel. But in the end I - I went with pretty. I suppose we all do. In the end. Pretty people just seem to have it so much…'

He cut himself off as Hainsley stuck his hand right inside the woman's belly - through her skin. 'Oh whoa that's something you don't see every-'

Hainsley reached out his other arm and pointed it at the demon, still chanting. The demon began to groan - as he felt something get dragged out of him. An orange light began to travel up Hainsley's left arm and then across his chest and down his right arm, flowing into the dead body of the young woman. 'Oh, yeah, that's feelin' a little weird,' the demon gasped.

The door opened and the butler stepped inside, 'excuse the interruption, sir,' he said, nodding his head apologetically. 'There are some men from Wolfram and Hart here to see you. They seem rather adamant.'

Hainsley looked up at him, the orange light was still flowing through him. 'Kill them,' he said. The butler nodded again. 'Very good, sir.'

* * *

'I don't know,' Spike said, walking through the people. Angel was also walking around the displayed corpses looking at them. 'Maybe the geezer's just lonely. Throws himself a surprise party every night. Picks out one of these painted pigeons and shows her a good time - if you know what I mean.'

Angel came to a stop beside a man holding a cup and saucer, a teaspoon sticking out from it - as if to stir his non-existent tea. Spike saw the dark look on his face. 'What? I'm sure they don't mind.'

'I mind.'

'Why?' Spike gave a dark and bitter chuckle. 'They're the lucky ones, aren't they? It's over for them. They've shuffled off, cleanly, the one time. Nobody's shoving them back into the stinking world against their will.'

'I mind,' Angel repeated, angrily. He turned as he heard the butler appear in the doorway.

'Mr. Hainsley has asked that I send you back to Wolfram and Hart, gentleman,' the butler told them. He pulled two very sharp and lethal looking butcher's knives from behind his back and held them up, 'in a manner of speaking.'

'uh - oh. Looks like it's buckets for you,' Spike grinned at Angel, sounding highly amused.

Angel looked at the knives, looked at the butler, and then grabbed the tiny teaspoon from the dead man's cup. He threw it at the butler, like he was throwing a dagger, and it lodged deep into the old man's head. He screamed.

'A _spoon_?' Spike yelled at Angel in disgust, 'that's just …' Across the room, the butler managed to pull the teaspoon out from where it was lodged in his brain. Spike nodded, 'well OK that's more…' then the butler collapsed - dead. 'Disappointing really.'

'I know you can't help me,' Angel said, leaving the tea party of the deceased and heading back out into the foyer, 'but could you maybe not root for the other team?'

'Hey I'll root for anyone with half a chance of taking you down a notch.' Spike said, chasing after him.

Angel span back around. 'What is your problem?'

'You are you ponce!'

Angel shook his head and turned to walk away again, looking for the entrance to Hainsley's workshop. Spike followed on behind him. 'You're my problem, You got it too good. You're king of a 30 floor castle with all the cars, comfort, power and glory you could ever want. And here, I save the world, throw myself on the proverbial hand grenade for love, honour and all the right reasons - and what do I get? Bloody well toasted and ghosted is what. It's not fair.'

Angel came to a stop and turned to glare at Spike. 'Fair?' he yelled from between gritted teeth. 'You asked for a soul. I didn't. It almost killed me! I spent a hundred years trying to come to terms with infinite remorse. You spent three weeks moaning in a basement_ and then you were fine!_ What's fair about that?'

But Spike was not moved by Angel's tale of woe or his histrionics. He peered at the other vampire, 'are you getting blurry?' he asked as he started to fade, 'or is it…' he blinked out of existence and - with a grunt of frustration mixed with relief - Angel went back to looking for Hainsley's workshop.

* * *

There was the sound of a key turning in the lock and the lock clicking - and then the door to Xandra's apartment was pushed open. It was dark inside. Putting the house keys she had found in the girl's purse back in her pocket, Cordelia snapped on the light switch. 'She kept the place clean,' she said, looking around.

They weren't very far away from where Doyle's first apartment had been - the one he had given up when he thought he was going to jail. It was a very similar place - the dingy hallways, the broken elevators and the small, one room apartments. The main difference was that Xandra kept her place neat and tidy, whilst Doyle's had always been a disaster zone of overdue laundry piles and empty scotch bottles. It seemed like these apartments, this area, was a popular place for the demon crowd to live. Amongst down and out humans who wouldn't ask too many questions - or even notice - if their neighbours looked funny or kept weird hours or did weird things.

There were rich demons in the city, of course there were - ones that lived in fancier neighbourhoods - but most of the demons, who didn't want to live in the sewers, still stuck to the very fringes of society, clustered round the edges, lived in down at heel places where nobody would pay them too much attention. Lived in the areas that no humans with power or wealth would ever set foot, amongst the undesirables of humankind, where no one would ever try and move them along because they were already at the end of the line.

Places like this were depressing. Doyle had hated living round here - and that had been all too clear in the way he kept his home. Xandra on the other hand seemed not to mind, if her housekeeping was anything to go by. For Doyle, living in a flophouse like this had been a symbol of his own inhumanity - it was his failure to be a man that had brought him to a place like this. And now he lived with the other demons and down and outs because he didn't deserve to live amongst the real people, the decent people. He had let himself fall and had been unable to pick himself up again, until Angel and Cordy had stuck out a helping hand.

But for Xandra, this place had meant something different. She had grown up in the margins, in the shadows. She had always known she was a demon - always known to avoid the human world. This place wasn't a come down - a brutal crash down to earth - for her. This was what she was used to. Home. And this was her own place - her own home in the big city - after growing up somewhere tedious and mindnumbing in the Midwest. This place had represented freedom and adventure for her - the way it had represented failure, shame and misery for Doyle - and so she had kept her home nice, looked after it, taken care of it. Until some unknown fiend had chased her down an alleyway and butchered her…

Cordelia was going through the bureau at the side of the bed. 'Look in her closet,' she said to Doyle, 'see if she kept anything in there.' He nodded and went over and opened the closet door. There wasn't much in the way of clothes hanging up. She obviously hadn't had much - demons often lived that way, not many possessions. It was an easier way to live when you were used to having to pack up and get out of town quickly, if a human mob were after you. And, of course, you couldn't avoid having few possessions when you couldn't just go out into the human world and get a job. There was a sadness to demon existence that Doyle knew all too well, felt too keenly in this place. A life half lived, in the shadows, scrounging for every scrap you could eke from the world above - without it ever realising you were there. Even if Xandra had been happy with her lot - that was because she didn't know what she was missing, what human life was like.

Doyle - of course - had known exactly what he had lost when he discovered his demon half, when he had started to live like this. And he knew what he had gained when he started working for Angel, started dating Cordy. Now he had that big apartment, under the office, all to himself, no debts to pay, and a girlfriend who loved him. But a small part of him still tugged away as he looked through Xandra's things, telling him this was where he was supposed to be - the kind of life he deserved. It wasn't fair. He got the life he had because he could pass as human. Xandra couldn't - she could never have walked down the street in the middle of the day, have held down a human job, asked a human to love her. Doyle belonged in this world just as much as he belonged in the world of the humans - and it was nothing but pure luck that the world he got to live in was the one that came with sunshine and comfort and Cordy. He should never take that for granted…

'Anything?' Cordelia asked him. He shook his head to dispel his own gloomy thoughts and then pulled something out of the closet. Cordy wrinkled her nose and shook her head, 'not your size,' she told him. He gave her a look, 'it's a waitress uniform,' he said, 'she worked as a waitress.'

'Yeah .. hang on…' she rifled through the bureau, 'I saw some payslips stashed in here.' She found what she was looking for and pulled them out. 'Potemkin's,' she said reading the slips. 'It's a place on 6th.'

'Yeah - I know it,' Doyle nodded. 'Demon dive bar - not the worst, not the best either. My poker ring sometimes use its backroom to play cards.'

'These slips only go back three months, I think she must have been pretty new.'

'Yeah,' he looked around the small apartment, 'I think she was pretty new in town. Just startin' out. This whole place has got a 'first place' air to it. Kinda place y' live when y' young.' … Or when you were desperate. But he kept that thought to himself.

'It's better than my first apartment,' Cordelia noted.

'That's true… but then I seen slime pits in the sewer that we're better than your first place.'

'Hey!... so, do we head to Potemkin's - see if anyone knows anything?'

'Yeah - I know the barman there - I can get him to talk.'

'You don't owe him money do you?' she asked suspiciously, getting to her feet.

'No way, man - what? That's all behind me now, you know that.'

'I guess I do.' She slid her arm through his and they walked out of the apartment, switching off the light and locking the door as they left.

* * *

Down in the basement, Hainsley was rinsing his hands in a stone basin, when the door to the workshop was suddenly kicked in. 'Come on in, it's open!' he smiled at the vampire, amused. He looked Angel up and down. 'Didn't know it was the head cheese himself. I thought for sure you were another lackey.' Then he switched his smile off and hardened his voice, 'you should show more respect.'

The pretty, young woman sat up on the table and glanced nervously between the warlock and the vampire. 'Oh, uh, I can see you guys have a thing going on,' she slid down from the table and walked, hurriedly, towards the door, 'Don't wanna get in your way. I'll let myself out.'

As she passed Angel, he grabbed her arm and twisted her towards him. Her eyes suddenly glowed a demonic red and she snarled. Angel thumped her and she fell to the floor. 'So how much do you charge, huh?' he asked Hainsley, 'Installing the average demon in a human body? I'm sure a lot of them would love to pass as people. You know - walk among the sheep.'

Hainsley chuckled, he picked up a towel and dried his hands off, 'believe me, friend, the average demon can't afford it.'

'I'm cutting off your supply, Hainsley,' Angel told the necromancer, 'As of now, your body shop is…' he came to a stop. Hainsley had held his arm out and flicked his wrist - and Angel felt his insides seize up and freeze him in place.

'Who do you think you're talking to?' Hainsley demanded, a disgusted look on his face that this upstart would dare come into his home and start throwing his weight around, giving orders like he had any power or control. He turned his hand and Angel cried out in pain, and then he drew his arm back towards himself and Angel was dragged towards him. 'I eat the dead for breakfast, son, and you're just another plate o' bacon and eggs.'

Spike suddenly appeared in the doorway - looking disoriented, and unsure as to where he had been, Hainsley saw him and began to laugh. 'A ghost?' he said in disbelief, 'you brought a ghost as your back up?'

'I'm not here to back him up,' Spike said, folding his arms and watching the show. 'I just haunt the bastard.'

'Stay out of this,' Angel snapped at him, straining to look over his shoulder - unable to turn his neck to its full extent because of Hainsley's power.

Spike looked pissed off. 'Oh stick it,' he replied, 'far as it'll go.' He looked at Hainsley, 'you go ahead, wiz. Do what you want.'

'What I want is to turn you inside out, like a shirt,' Hainsley said, flexing his hand and causing Angel to cry out in pain. 'I could dust you right now, boy, wouldn't even need a stake.' But instead, he opened up his fist - and released Angel from his grip. Angel grunted as he was relieved of the pain he had been in. 'But that would be too big an insult for The Senior Partners to overlook,' Hainsley explained, with more than a little regret to his tone. 'Seems that they've got plans for you.'

'I've got plans of my own,' Angel said. He took out his cell - hit speed dial and held it to his ear. 'Gunn - do it,' he commanded.

'And what was that?' Hainsley laughed out loud, 'call in an airstrike?'

'I just froze all you bank accounts,' Angel told him, closing up his cell and putting it back in his pocket, 'terminated your paper assets and turned your books over to a very motivated contact at the IRS.' He began to smile as he saw the look of panic rise on Hainsley's face. '5 minutes from now, you'll have nothing but this house. 10 minutes - and that'll go into foreclosure.'

'You can't do that,' Hainsley was frowning - but his voice was scared; angry verging on panic.

Angel smirked, 'I'll let myself out.'

'It's not legal,' Hainsley called after him, 'You think you can get away with that?' he forced a dark laugh, 'I'll sue you to hell!'

'Good luck - we're your lawyers.' He walked away back up the stairs. 'This isn't over vampire!' Hainsley yelled after him - but he ignored him and kept on walking.

...

Speaking of ignoring people and keeping on walking … Spike was hot on his heels as he crossed the foyer, yapping all the way. 'That's how you're gonna fight the forces of evil now? Call the IRS?'

'Whatever it takes,' Angel shrugged, he wasn't getting into this. This was big picture stuff - there were different ways to win battles than just swords and fists. Sometimes the pain was better than the kill - and when the evil was human, the kill wasn't even an option. But pain came in many forms - and what would hurt one man would not harm another. Spike didn't get that. As was proven by his continued jibing.

The blonde vampire made a phone out of his fingers and pretended to speak into it. 'Hello IRS? Will you fight my battles for me? And whilst I'm at it will you wipe my wide, spotty -' he blinked out of existence. Angel sighed with relief. 'Oh thank god,' and walked out of the house alone - enjoying the peace and quiet for as long as it could last.

* * *

Spike rematerialised back in Hainsley's basement. He looked around, confused. 'You!' he cried when he saw the necromancer.

Hainsley smirked at him, 'power over the dead,' he reminded Spike. 'But enough about me - let's talk about you. You're a ghost,' he shrugged. 'Or close enough, anyway.' He made his face and voice sympathetic. 'That's just a horrible way to be. You're not here, you're not there, just lost - somewhere in the middle. And you can't fight against it, can't fix it. Hell, you can't even lift a finger 'cause you don't have any.'

Spike folded his arms, defensively. 'What's it to you?'

'I can give you back what's been taken from you,' Hainsley said, now his voice was encouraging, persuasive, luring Spike in with his words. 'Freedom - power of choice. I can put your destiny back in your own flesh and bone hands.' He saw the look of understanding pass across Spike's face and he nodded, reeling him in further. 'That's right. A corporeal body. I can make that happen. But to do that, I need you to do something for me…' his tone shifted again, hinting that this proposal was delicate - a big ask, but one that came with a big reward. 'Something that might require…'

'Hurt Angel?' Spike asked him - his face lighting up and his voice excited. He walked towards the necromancer, 'that it? you want me to hurt Angel?'

Hainsley nodded - that had gone better than he'd hoped. Meanwhile, Spike was grinning devilishly. 'You've come to the right ghost,' he said.


	8. Just Rewards: Part Three

_Part Three_

Cordelia wrinkled her nose as Doyle led her down the basement steps into the Potemkin nightclub. There was loud music belting out a repetitive beat and no words. The floor was sticky and the air was stale with booze and cigarette smoke. 'This isn't the worst place you know?' she asked, yelling over the noise of the music.

'Nope,' he shook his head, yelling back, 'lotsa worse dives than this.' He looked around at the clientele. 'There don't seem to be much in the way o' trouble makers here, tonight, either. We should be OK.'

'I think we could hold our own whatever was in here - slayer, remember?'

'Yeah - but, you haven't worked up a rep in this town yet. You start beating on some demon in a room full o' demons - and they'll all start on y' - 'cause they don't know to back off and stay quiet. You gotta build a name for y'self as a demon fighter before y' can walk into a place like this, cause trouble and walk back out again - with all the big nasties lookin at their Yak urine and pig's blood chasers, pretendin' they aint seen nothin'. One thing I learned fast, back in my early demon days, reputation is everythin' in these circles.'

'I'd ask you what your reputation was, but…'

He chuckled, 'but you already know the answer, darlin'.'

She looked around the smoky, underground room. Demon women - of varying species - were carrying drinks to tables. They were all wearing the same waitressing uniform that Doyle had found in Xandra's closet. 'So, what do you reckon Xandra's reputation was?' she asked.

'Let's find out,' Doyle said to her, guiding her over to the bar. He climbed up onto a bar stool and then pulled Cordy up on to the one next to him. The bartender saw him and nodded a greeting, 'Doyle.'

Doyle nodded back, 'hey, Alvis,'

The bartender, Alvis, was a Cailif demon - with a ridged brow and little spikes running along it. He stared at Cordelia, 'did you bring a _human _here?' he asked, 'you know you're not allowed to bring your own bar snacks.'

'_Excuse me?_' Cordelia raised an eyebrow and stared at Doyle so hard he squirmed in his seat. 'You frequent a bar where people _eat people?_'

'Where demons eat people,' Doyle corrected - 'and no - they don't eat 'em in here. No bar snacks rule. But some o' the clientele will, on occasion, partake in a bit o' … people eatin'. Away from the premises.' He shook his head. 'Anyway - you got it wrong, Alvis,' he said to the bartender. 'This isn't a snack. This is my girlfriend, Cordelia … the vampire slayer.'

'Oh hey - hey!' Alvis backed away, looking alarmed, 'what are you doing bringing a slayer in here? Look, lady - we don't want any trouble. You don't kill us, we won't kill you. Capiche?'

'See?' Doyle said to Cordelia, 'you gotta build a rep. Listen, man,' he turned back to Alvis, 'we're not here looking for trouble. We wanna know about a girl who worked here, called Xandra. Goyra demon. Young.'

'Xandra,' Alvis snorted, 'you know where she is? She's three hours late for her shift and we're packed out the wazoo. She's in serious trouble when she finally hauls her ass into this place.'

'She's already in serious trouble,' Doyle told him, 'she's dead.'

'Your old lady kill her?' Alvis asked suspiciously.

'What? No! We found her - buried her. Now we're looking to find out what _did_ kill her so we can stop 'em. We're on Xandra's side, here, bud.'

Cordelia was looking suspiciously between Doyle and the barman, as if trying to figure something out. 'Hang on a minute, hang on just one minute,' she said. They both stopped talking and looked at her - Alvis with an expression of trepidation. 'Did he just refer to _me_ as your _old lady_?' She glared at the barman. 'Do I look like an _old lady_, pal?'

Doyle burst out laughing, 'standard lowlife vernacular, Princess. Don't take offence … don't, y'know,' he whistled, 'murder our lead.'

'I didn't mean anything by it,' Alvis stammered out, looking terrified.

'Yeah well, you watch it, buster, or you'll find out just how hard this old lady can punch.'

Doyle was grinning. Alvis was stuttering and Cordelia was glowering. 'Listen, bud,' Doyle said, looking between the two of them, 'could we maybe go some place quieter to ask a few questions about the girl? I promise Cordy won't hurt y'.'

The bartender nodded, called over one of the waitresses to take his place behind the bar and then led the young couple into the backroom. The noise of the booming beat was muted back here, there wasn't the same sound of demons trying to yell over the music and the air was clearer - far less smoky. There was a table in the middle with chairs set around it, where the waitresses would take their break - or where Doyle's poker ring would play - and there were barrels around the sides of the room - filled with all the various fluids that a demon clientele would want to drink.

'So - uh - Xandra died, huh?' Alvis said, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

'Yeah,' Doyle sat down across from him, 'earlier today we reckon. I found her late this mornin'. She'd been … it was pretty bad.'

'You know what did it?'

But Doyle had to shake his head, 'nope - that's why we're here. Her injuries were…' he glanced across at Cordy, 'you're probably better at explaining them than me, love,' he said to her.

'They were caused by weapons - that's for damn sure,' Cordy said. 'And that's unusual, right?' She glanced between the two demon men, 'demons are better known for just using their claws or their jaws or whatever else freaky thing they have at their disposal.'

'That's true,' Doyle nodded, 'but not all demons have claws and jaws that can shred flesh and whatnot. I don't. Alvis doesn't. Xandra didn't.'

'Right - well by the looks of the wounds we're talking multiple swords and axes. She was killed by a blow to the back of her head, as best I can reckon, but not before she had sustained _a lot_ of injuries to her torso. From the look of the wounds - and the amount of blood - I'd say something cornered her and then had themselves a stabbing frenzy.'

Alvis was looking worried. 'What is it?' Doyle asked him. The bartender took a deep breath. 'Xandra's not the first girl we've had go missing - in the past few months… there was another one that just never showed up for her shift.'

'And you didn't think to call her at home, ring her family, track her down?' Cordelia asked, sounding scandalised. Alvis just looked over at Doyle, wanting him to explain it - Doyle shifted, uncomfortably, in his seat. 'It's the demon underworld, love,' he said. 'Y' don't … put down roots and build up a community. Sometimes demons just disappear - they move on, sometimes they get killed - by demon hunters or even other demons they owed money to. You know how it used to be for me. That's the whole world - drifters and grifters, coming and going. Sometimes they stay a week - sometimes a year … but chances are they'll move on at some point. Quickly, too. Y' don't ask too many questions when someone just vanishes - 'cause one day you might need to vanish and y' don't want people askin' questions about you.'

'Right,' Cordelia said slowly, 'but Xandra didn't vanish - she was butchered. And the chances are this other girl was too. So - unless we want every waitress in Potemkin dead in an alley someplace, now is the time to start asking questions.' She looked across at Alvis, 'what can you tell us about Xandra?'

The bartender shrugged, 'not much - no questions asked is a pretty big rule around these parts. She was new in town - been here less than 6 months. I don't remember how long ago she started here, but not that long. She was a hard worker, good with the clients, got good tips. Kept herself to herself… that's it.'

'These customers?' Doyle asked, narrowing his eyes, 'any that showed any interest in her in particular, any that might have followed her home - stalked her?'

'Any of them go round carrying big, pointy weapons?' Cordelia asked. But Alvis shook his head. The night club had its regulars, sure, but none of them had ever seemed to pay much attention to any of the waitresses. And certainly Xandra had never complained that any were giving her any hassle, or following her home.

'A place like this?' Cordelia snorted, 'seems like hassling the waitresses is probably part of the wallpaper. She wouldn't report what happened every day. Doesn't mean it didn't happen.' she glanced at Doyle, 'maybe we should speak to the other waitresses, they might know more about if someone was giving Xandra - or any of them - a hard time.'

'Well, we can,' Doyle agreed, 'but this isn't like a human club, darlin'. Everythin' out there is a different species from everythin' else - and they don't like to mix. A..' he nodded at Alvis, 'Cailif isn't gonna give a Goyra a hard time - not the way you mean. Not like a drunk guy is gonna give a waitress a hard time in a human bar. Interspecies relations … like what we get up to … its pretty rare, and frowned upon.'

'Well, were there any Goyra demons that used to come here?' Cordelia asked, 'that might wanna give her a hard time?' But Alvis shook his head. Xandra had been the only one. 'And the other girl that's missing - she wasn't a Goyra?'

Alvis shook his head again. The only thing that linked the girls was that they had both, briefly, worked there. He wasn't even sure that their time had overlapped.

'And you never really saw anyone pay her any extra attention, she never mentioned a boyfriend or anything, you never saw anybody with a big ol' sword?' Cordelia asked. But Alvis had nothing more to offer them.

Doyle sighed, 'maybe we should talk to the other waitresses,' he said, 'see if they know anythin' - maybe Xandra talked to them more about her private life. Maybe they've noticed a customer bein' weird…' He looked at Alvis, 'you mind if we question 'em?'

The Cailif demon looked at Cordelia, 'what will she do if I say 'no'?'

Cordelia just smiled at him sweetly. He stumbled back to his feet, 'I - I'll send the first one in,' he said, backing out of the room, hastily.

'I think I might enjoy building myself a rep,' Cordelia said to Doyle, as she watched the bartender hurry away to do their bidding.

* * *

Angel arrived back at Wolfram and Hart and wearily made his way back to the office. Connor was not there anymore - and Angel assumed Wesley had put the little boy to bed up in the penthouse. There was a knock on the open door and Gunn came in, his jacket was gone and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, the knot of his tie pulled loose. He looked like a man who had been working long and late. 'Wiped out every asset we could find on Hainsley,' he told his boss,'wasn't easy. Man's got his fingers in a lot of dirty pies.'

'Yeah well,' Angel sank into his big chair, 'I think pies are gonna be off his menu for a while.'

'Gotta hurt,' Gunn said, coming further into the room and sitting across the desk from Angel, 'I mean, damn, who doesn't love pie?'

There was another knock on the door and this time Wes and Fred came in. They were also looking weary - and Fred carried the amulet. 'You're back!' Fred said, sitting down in the chair next to Gunn. Angel nodded - he was.

'Hainsley out of business?' Wesley asked him.

'Yeah - for the time being.'

Fred crinkled her nose, 'so - he's not going away?'

Angel sighed, 'well I think that 'this isn't over yet, vampire' might be the tip off.' He leaned forward, 'look, guys, can we get back to my - uh - spiritual crisis?'

Wesley nodded - yes, the Spike problem, he and Fred had been looking into it whilst Angel was out.

'He popped out on me at Hainsley's place,' Angel told them, 'but we all know that he'll be back … and back and back. And I really don't want that happening again, so explain to me how we're gonna get him out of here.'

'He can't get out of here,' Fred said, bluntly.

Angel looked pained. 'Please don't tell me that.'

Fred looked uncomfortable. 'OK...Wes,' she turned to Wesley, 'you tell him.'

'I've had my entire department doing thorough research on the amulet,' Wesley explained. He pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his eyes up to try and ward of the exhaustion. 'There's not much. Not in the way of releasing Spike from it anyway.' He had found plenty on its provenance and use - he had a good understanding of what must have taken place down in the hellmouth now, what had happened to Spike down there. But there was nothing that explained how Spike had got trapped inside or why he had now materialised from out of it or how to separate him from its influence. 'At least, not in the conventional sense,' he said, rubbing his face and fighting to keep his eyes open.

Angel looked confused, 'and what's the unconventional sense?' he asked.

'Something he asked for,' Wesley suggested, 'eternal rest.'

* * *

Spike materialised in the lobby - and stared around confused and annoyed. It was quiet and dark now, most people had gone home. He didn't have a home to go to - he was trapped in this godforsaken office block, with nothing to do but wait for the morning shift to arrive. And then he could while away another day of his eternity taunting them. God that was all he had - hours of boredom in the dark followed by 8 hours of haunting the bastards that worked here. It was beyond cruel. This was not what the aftermath of saving the world was supposed to look like.

The light was still on in Angel's office. At least he could kill a few minutes winding up Captain Forehead. And then there would only be another 8 billion years to go. He headed for the office, passing the front desk as he went.

Harmony was still there, packing up ready for the night. 'Fine, don't talk to me,' she said as he walked past her. He came to a stop. 'What?'

She didn't look up at him and just continued to straighten her desk, 'whole time we were together you treated me like day old rat blood. Why should now be any diff just 'cause you've gone all Patrick Swayze.'

He raised a sardonic eyebrow, 'what are you on about it?'

She sniffed and tossed her mane of blonde hair. 'Well gee, nothing much. Just since you're all soulful now I thought that maybe, just maybe, you might have learned to open up a little. You know - talk? But I guess the leopard can't change his stripes.'

He stared at her, shaking his head slightly. 'Spots, you dink. Leopards have spots.'

'Oh excuse me, Mr. Brainy! Thank you so much for sharing. Wow. what a breakthrough.'

He walked off - smiling a little - he really did have a soft spot for Harmony and her utter cluelessness … but only in small doses. One round of twenty questions and he was ready to drive a stake through her heart - again.

As he got closer to the door, he heard Angel's voice. Tall, dark and forehead wasn't alone in there. He came to a stop and lurked in the shadows, listening.

* * *

'This is an unusual situation,' Angel said, swivelling on his chair a little as he thought. It was a lot - a big suggestion … but it might be their only hope. 'But I think it's our only choice,' he mused. What else could they do? - There was no other way to sort this.

'It's what we would do in any case of a haunting, isn't it?' Wesley asked, 'an exorcism of sorts.'

Angel frowned. They'd never exorcised Phantom Dennis - though they had got rid of his murderous old mother. But then Dennis seemed happy living the ghost life, taking care of Cordelia in her apartment. Spike wasn't happy. And maybe Dennis had it easier anyway - he could touch things, move things around, interact with Cordy - make a difference. Just a few months ago, the ghost had swung an axe at Angelus' head and saved Doyle's life in the process. Spike couldn't do any of that - he was like the opposite of Dennis. Dennis was invisible, but could touch. Spike was all too visible - and far too audible - but completely unable to affect the world around him. That must be a frustrating way to live - or not live - whatever. Even for Captain Peroxide - it seemed a cruel fate. As drastic as what Wesley was suggesting was - the watcher was right. Exorcism was standard when it came to a haunting. Helping a soul find peace was a kindness.

But Fred was less sure, she was frowning and looking uneasy. 'We're talking about killing him,' she pointed out. 'I mean - I know he's already dead, but he'd be gone dead. Forever.' She shook her head, 'it just doesn't seem right.'

'I agree,' Wesley told her, 'but neither is leaving him here, trapped between realms: with no control over his fate; not able to touch anything; affect anything. Unable to fight. Letting him crossover seems the most merciful thing.'

'Yeah, yeah, I'm all for mercy,' Angel interrupted, still swivelling from side to side in his big chair. He could see the chair reflected in the blankness of the office window - though of course in the reflection it looked like it was swivelling itself. It was pretty cool… he looked away from the window and up at his team, 'just tell me how to do it.'

Wesley took a breath - and began to explain. The amulet was protected, by charms or mystic enchantments. Under normal circumstances it could not be harmed or desecrated in anyway. It would stay intact - and so would anything bound to it. But his reading suggested that the magic protecting it would not work on hallowed ground.

'Hallowed. Like a church?' Gunn asked. Wesley nodded, 'or a cemetery, yes. It has to be taken there and destroyed.'

'How would you destroy it?' Fred wanted to know.

'I think a sharp blow would probably do the trick.'

'Angel, what do you think?' Gunn asked.

Angel sighed. It was a big decision. God knows he didn't want Spike hanging around and making wisecracks until the end of time. And Spike didn't seem too happy about the prospect either. Spike was supposed to be gone - he'd died - this was all meant to be over. But now he was back, and Angel had a responsibility towards him. The responsibility he had always had towards him - Spike's life was in his hands, his existence was bound to Angel's. Always. You couldn't just smash something with a rock and make that go away.

He would be lying if he said he'd felt sad on hearing that Spike had not made it through the final battle - in fact he would be lying if he said he had felt no small relief that his oldest rival was finally gone from the world...

They'd always been rivals - ever since they met - first over Dru, then over Buffy. And of course the only other vampire to crash his exclusive soul having club would turn out to be William the Bloody Irritating. Of course it was. And then Spike was dead - and all that was over. But now he was back and Angel wasn't sure he could just make the problem go away by exorcising Spike. He had that responsibility towards him.

And then there was Buffy. Would he have to tell Buffy that Spike had come back as a ghost? That Angel had forced him to cross over - without telling her, without giving the pair of them a chance for a final goodbye? He couldn't see how he could keep it a secret forever - and then he'd have to put up with her bitching about it.

He sighed again. It was too much to decide tonight. 'I think I wanna sleep on it,' he told his team. They nodded at him - Fred placed the amulet down on Angel's desk - and they got up and left him alone.

* * *

Up in the penthouse, he checked on Connor. Wesley had left the baby with one of the au pairs from the 24 hour creche service, once he'd put the little boy to bed - and Angel now relieved her - sending her back down to the daycare centre. He watched the little boy sleep. 'Has it been a hard day for you, buddy?' he asked softly, 'me too. An old enemy showed up today. .. well, maybe not 'enemy'. More like an old …' he frowned, ''friend's' not the right word either. Old pain in my ass is about right. Him and your daddy,' he leaned back in his chair and a reflective smile spread across his face, 'we cut a swathe through continents in our prime. No one could stop us - the whirlwind - and your mom was there - and your crazy Aunty Dru.' He shook his head, 'the things we got up to - I guess I hope you never find out. But it was a wild time. Everyone knew who we were. Everyone was afraid of us. We went where we pleased, took what we pleased… and then we went to Romania.'

His face fell as he remembered what had come next, the sombre realisation that the happier memories were the ones that he needed to shut out - and the painful ones were the ones he needed to embrace, if he was to be a champion. 'I guess everything that happened after that eventually led me to you,' he said, watching the boy sleep, 'and for that I'll be forever thankful. No one will ever matter to me the way you do, big guy. But Spike ... Spike's a big part of my story - and now he's here, and I have to decide what to do with him. And if I choose the easy path, the merciful path - that's a part of my story that ends tonight - and never comes back. But if I don't … what's the point of Spike being what he is? A real death would be better. I guess it would even be more fitting.' He sighed very deeply. 'He really did save the world, you know. And he really did love Buffy. And I can belittle that in front of my friends and call him names - doesn't change any of that. Spike was a hero. I've got to live in a world where I'm not the only vampire to ever be a hero … but now I've got to decide whether to keep him around or not. I've got to figure out what the right thing to do is … because I've always got to be a better hero than Captain Peroxide is. Anything else would be... unthinkable.' He stared at his sleeping son for a while longer - and then kissed him and went to his own room.

...

He took off his shirt and pants and climbed into bed, pulling the blankets over his head with a big sigh. He closed his eyes.

'Well look at you.'

He opened his eyes again. No! It couldn't be … but it was. Spike was stood lurking in the shadows, over by the window. He groaned out loud, 'aw - no no no!'

'Sitting in luxury's ample lap,' Spike said, taking in the king sized bed with a raised eyebrow - and then turning to look out of the window at the spectacular view of the city at night. 'Top of the world. Looking down on … well, everyone really. It's good to be King, isn't it?'

'Ground rules,' Angel snapped, 'haunt me all you want during business hours - but this place is off limits.'

'Relax beefcake - I didn't come for a fight…' he chuckled darkly, 'not that I could, right? Can't touch, can't affect anything…'

Angel sat up in the bed looking worried, and Spike nodded. 'Yeah I overheard your little group powwow about me.'

'How much?'

'Enough of enough.'

Angel sighed, 'look, Spike,'

'Necromancer tried to make a deal with me,' Spike interrupted him. 'Said he could bring me back - body and soul - if I used our close personal relationship to double cross you.'

'Tempting. What did you say?'

Spike looked annoyed, and when he spoke his voice was offended. 'You see right there, that's the problem. You having to ask me that. I don't play for that side anymore … or haven't you heard? Besides… even if Mr. Death could do what he promised, I trust him about as much as you trust me. '

'What do you want from me, Spike?' Angel asked with a sigh, 'what do you want me to do?'

* * *

After a couple of hours questioning, Cordy and Doyle had come up with nothing - the waitresses had been a bust. No one had anything useful to tell them about Xandra; the people she knew; how she lived or how she might have wound up dead in an alley. Nobody had seen anything, nobody knew anything, it seemed that nobody could help them.

'I don't get it,' Cordelia said, as they climbed up the steps back up to street level, 'how can there have been no one in her life who can help us? Who cares what happened to her - who knew the first thing about her before she died?'

'It's the way o' the demon underworld,' Doyle shrugged. They reached the sidewalk and began to walk down it. 'There are plenty o' demons who care about their own kin but … once you move away from your family group, I mean there's really no reason a Suparvo demon would hang out with a Kwaini, or a Lei ach with a Durslar Beast. They're all different species. The only thing they got in common is that they're not human. Sure they'll drink in the same bars - play poker at the same table, but meaningful relationships …they're like people, they tend to form those with their own kind.'

'So the only people who could tell us anything deeper about Xandra are other Goyras … but they haven't been here in the city with her. They wouldn't know if she'd got into any trouble, here.' Cordelia frowned, 'it all just seems so lonely,' she said.

'It is lonely,' Doyle told her, 'the life o' a demon is lurkin' in the shadows, massively outnumbered by all the humans and havin' to dodge people and dangerous demons alike. It's a pretty desperate existence. But I guess if it's all you've ever known, then it's also just normal.' He glanced at Cordelia, 'it was a big shock for me when I fell into this world,' he told her, 'and I'm thankful every day that I got a choice - that I can live amongst the normal people and pretend to be one o' them. I won't ever take that for granted. The day I thought I'd lost my human face …' He trailed off and shook his head, remembering the horror of the morning he had woken up stuck in his spikes.

'You don't 'pretend' to be one of the normal people,' Cordelia protested, sliding her arm into her boyfriend's so they were linked together. 'You _are_ a normal person - you belong in the real world. With me.'

He smiled at her, 'a normal person who sneezes and sprouts demon face,' he pointed out, 'who gets visions from the higher powers. I won't ever be truly normal, love. And that's OK. I'm OK with that. I wouldn't wanna go back to bein' normal. Not now. But that doesn't mean that I'm still not thankful I can't do normal things every now and again.'

'Well - I guess if you put it that way - I'm not 'normal' either. Not anymore anyway.'

'No - you're not,' he stopped and pulled her to a stop so they were facing each other. 'You're a slayer and I'm a half breed,' he told her, 'we belong in both worlds and neither - that's just part of who we are - trapped between the light and the dark.'

'I guess that works out nicely, then.' She leaned in to kiss him. 'If we both don't belong in either world, then we must belong together.' They kissed again but broke apart when they heard the sound of glass breaking not far away from them. 'What was that?' Cordelia asked, whipping her head around to look.

'I think it came from that side street,' Doyle said, peering round, frowning, 'sounded like a window bein' smashed. You wanna check it out?'

Holding hands, they hurried across the street, headed for the alleyway and the source of the disturbance. They peered round the corner, cautious and alert for trouble - and saw a truck idling in the road. A small gang of vampires were by the truck - two were manhandling a crate into its bed while the others stood guard.

'I'm guessin' they smashed the window,' Doyle whispered. Cordelia nodded, 'and I'm guessing that they stole that crate - whatever's in there … can't be good.'

'There's… five o' them,' Doyle said, still keeping his voice low and counting the vampires, 'you wanna take 'em on? We can just get outta here, if you'd rather.'

'You got my back?'

'You know I do.'

'Then we'll take them on - vampires and theft, never a good combination.' She took a stake out of her purse, 'let's go.'

* * *

Spike and Angel walked through the night, side by side. They had found a cemetery close to the Wolfram and Hart offices - an old one, with tombs and graves going back many decades. They came to one burial plot, near the centre of the graveyard, where the grave was a great stone coffin - like the one Spike had used to sleep on inside his crypt, before he got the bed. 'Suppose this'll do,' Spike said, looking around, 'feels hallowed enough.'

Angel looked down at the amulet in his hand. 'Are you sure you wanna do this?'

'What? Think I could really stand hanging out with you and your lot now and forever? Wisecracking ghost sidekick. No bloody thanks. Come on, you know as well as I do it's for the best.'

Angel nodded and placed the amulet down on top of the stone coffin - using it as a table. Then he picked up a stone urn and felt the weight of it - it seemed heavy enough. It should probably get the job done. He looked up at Spike - checking that he was really ready for this.

'I'm glad it's you finally doing me in,' Spike said, he smiled a little - as if thinking of everything that had ever existed between the two of them. How fitting it was that the one who should finish him off should be the one who had created him in the first place. 'You being my grandsire and all. Circle of death - eh?'

Angel nodded. Spike's words resonated with his own thoughts - the way their paths, the story of their very lives, had been so irrevocably intertwined ever since William the hapless and heartbroken poet had bumped into Angelus' family on that London street, over a century ago. Angelus and William the Bloody - there had never been two vampires quite like them. And now here they were - the worst two vampires on record - two champions with souls, heroes. Both of them. Spike was the reflection that Angel didn't have - their stories always the mirror image of each other - and now, all it would take was one quick blow from the urn in his hand and that mirror would be smashed, that reflection lost forever. 'Good bye, Spike,' he said, heavily.

'See you around, Angel.'

He raised the urn high in the air, ready to bring it down hard and crush the amulet but - before he could strike the blow - he felt his arm seize up, and rather than smash the necklace, he smashed the urn into his own head instead. Spike watched him, halfway between amused and irritated. 'Uh, I think you missed.'

Angel smashed himself with the urn, again, this time in his very bewildered looking face. And then he rose up off the ground, levitating - and frozen in place. 'And the dead shall rise!' Magnus Hainsley stepped out of the shadows, his arm outstretched, controlling Angel's body. 'Just because I say so. A vampire should think twice before messing with a man who wields power over all things lifeless.' He flexed his hand and sent Angel shooting backwards, smashing headfirst into a tall gravestone, knocking him unconscious before he let him fall to the floor.

'You took your sweet time stepping in, Hainsley,' Spike said to him. 'I came this close to getting a one way ticket to the great beyond.'

'Relax son, I was never going to let anything happen to you,' Hainsley told him, 'you're the linchpin of my plan.'

'Our plan,' Spike corrected. 'And you bloody better hold up your end of it. I'm not going to be used by you.'

'Yes you are,' Hainsley laughed, 'But afterwards, I'll give you your reward, just as you asked.'


	9. Just Rewards: Part Four

_Part Four_

Cordelia had staked the first vampire before it had even realised she was there. She got it straight through the back and it exploded in a cloud of dust - the other vamps turned to see what the disturbance was. They yelled and, abandoning the crate in the bed of the truck, the two who had been carrying it leapt down onto the road. The driver got out from behind the wheel and headed towards her, and the other guard joined in.

Cordy elbowed one in the face before using the same arm to deliver a stinging blow to another vamp's face. She was grabbed from behind, and snapped her head back - using the back of her head to headbutt her captor. He staggered away and she span round and plunged her stake into his heart, before kicking the first vampire against the truck and pinning him down there.

Meanwhile, Doyle had pulled the driver away from the melee and had gone demon face to deliver his own headbutt. The vampire staggered backward clutching his face - and Doyle took the opportunity to pounce on him and pin him to the ground. He thumped the vampire a couple of times before staking him, dropping the few inches to the floor as the demon disintegrated beneath him.

Cordelia smashed her vampire against the side of the truck again. It hit back at her and she span away under the force of the blow, but recovered quickly and hit back again twice as hard. The vampire aimed another punch at her - but she ducked this time - and used the momentum of his body following the path of his arm to push him away from herself and then stake him through the back.

Doyle glanced up and saw Cordy take out her third vampire - and then looked away and saw the last vampire was bearing down on him. It was too close - he couldn't get back to his feet before it reached him - so he scrabbled backwards along the road, trying to gain enough distance. But the vampire was laughing - it thought it had him. It didn't notice Cordy creep up from behind. She kicked it hard between the legs and it howled and fell to the ground, where Doyle lost no time in plunging his own stake through the vampire's heart.

He coughed and spluttered as he inhaled the dust and then turned back to Cordelia, she held out her hand and pulled him up to the feet. He was still spluttering a little. 'So y' still goin' for the goolies, I see,' he noted, as he brushed himself down.

'It's a classic,' she shrugged, 'you can't beat a classic.'

He chuckled. 'I think _you_ can now, darlin' - with all those fancy powers and what not, You could do somethin' much more … impressive lookin'.'

'But the goolies always work,' she told him, stashing her stake back in her purse. 'Just because I'm all superheroey now doesn't mean I should waste time and energy where a quick boot to the groin will get the job done. Fighting isn't about looking good, it's about winning.'

'I think when Angel does it, it's mostly about lookin' good.'

Cordelia snorted in amusement, 'well, yeah - when the giant poser does it...' She looked across at the truck, 'you think we should put that crate back where they got it - or take it with us?'

Doyle tilted his head to one side to scrutinise the large wooden box. 'We probably shouldn't put it back without findin' out what was in it first,' he said, 'could be somethin' apocalyptically dangerous if a gang o' vamps were taking it.'

'Yeah like that time Spike and Dru reassembled the judge - that was just a load of wooden crates - until it wasn't. We should check it.'

'Right,' he looked up and down the empty street, alert for any sign of the human world and authorities realising there had been a break in. 'But not here, yeah? We don't wanna get caught with somethin' clearly stolen right outside the place it was stolen from. Help me get it back to the pickup, we'll check it at the office.'

They went to the truck and lifted the wooden crate down - it was large and bulky and they carried it carefully between them all the way back to their own truck, where they stashed it in the back, next to the spades. 'Hey, Doyle,' Cordy said as she climbed up into the passenger side of the cab, 'wouldn't it be cool if it was worth something - and the people it was stolen from offered a reward - and then we just happened to be the ones who came forward and collected it?'

He chuckled again, 'let's not get ahead of ourselves first, darlin'. Let's just get it home and find out what it is first.'

* * *

When Angel woke up, he found himself down in Hainsley's workshop, lying on the table in the middle of the red pentagram. He was unable to move - frozen in place, which must mean - he flicked his eyes to the side - yeah, there was Hainsley, standing above him, grinning down. 'Hello, vampire, have a nice nap?'

Angel struggled, trying to force himself upward, but Hainsley reached out an arm and pushed him back down, without even touching him. 'No, don't get up,' he smirked, 'You've had a rough day.' The smirk vanished, 'you know, so have I - thanks to you.'

'Yours is about to get a hell of a lot worse,' Angel told him, still struggling against the invisible force which held him place.

'I don't think so. Me necromancer. You … dead. You can't lay a finger on me.'

'Maybe not,' he struggled some more, but Hainsley's control over him was too great. 'But what do you think The Senior Partners are gonna do when I turn up missing?'

But Hainsley only laughed. Angel wasn't going to be missing. He was going to show up to work tomorrow morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed. And then the first thing he would do would be to reverse the seizure of all Hainsley's assets and reinstate the Internment Acquisitions Department.

'And why would I do that?' Angel asked from between gritted teeth.

'Not you.' Spike stepped out of the shadows, looking supremely smug. 'Me. Wearing your body.'

And to think I didn't trust you!'

'Oh come on, Angel, what am I supposed to do?' the ghostly vampire spread his arms out, questioning with his body language as well as his words. 'What choice did I have? Exorcism? Letting you and yours banish me to oblivion.' He shook his head, 'no thanks. Necro, here,' he pointed at Hainsley, 'is gonna give me my body back … after I've taken yours for a spin first, fixed his little problems.' He leaned down over Angel, and the smile on his face became triumphant - and his tone of voice harder. 'And here's the kicker - I go in and you go ...pft! Off to never never come back land. And then yours very truly will be running the show. Your cars, your digs, everything - _everyone_ \- I deserve will be mine.' He stopped and looked wistful, his voice becoming thoughtful. 'And maybe I'll have a go with that Fred. She looks like a goer - and she seems to really really look up to you.'

'Shut up!'

Spike nodded. 'You know what? You're right, enough talk. Let's do this already, I'm itching to get physical.' He rolled his shoulders like he was preparing his muscles for running a race. He gave Hainsley the nod to show he was ready. Hainsley rolled up his sleeves, 'you know I've never installed anybody in a _conscious _dead body before,' he said. He chuckled and stared down at Angel, 'I imagine this is going to be extremely painful.' He started his strange and eerie chant and then plunged his left hand deep inside Angel's belly. Angel screamed out. Hainsley reached out his right arm towards Spike - and Spike vanished, his essence travelling in an orange glow, up Hainsley's right arm, across his chest and then down his left arm - headed straight towards Angel ...

* * *

Gunn sat at his desk. He was the only one left in the office - all the lights were dimmed and he was working by the low glow of the lamp beside him. He should go home - call it a night and go home. The others had left hours ago, Angel had gone up to his penthouse to sleep and Gunn could get this stuff done in the morning. It was nothing pressing and urgent. But - damn! - he loved the work. He loved going through all the paperwork, following the trails, rooting out the connections.

He loved that he understood it all - and that he just _knew_ exactly how it could be used, how the law could be warped and manipulated to make this paperwork do whatever Angel and the gang wanted it to. It was like a superpower - he wondered if this what it had felt like for Irish when he had absorbed the powers of the crazy puzzle solving demons. If Doyle felt this alive and this hyped when he sat down to do the New York Times crossword - because he knew he could crack every cryptic clue in record time … and he shouldn't be able to.

It was the thrill of the cheat - along with the heady power that came with the knowledge - that made Gunn's heart race as he combed through document after document. He should give up for the evening, it would be tomorrow before he knew it - but the exhilaration was leaving him too pumped to sleep. This was crazy. Taking out a vamp didn't get his heart beating like this - and now here he was sitting at a desk, going over protocols and precedents and singing HMS Pinafore … and loving every minute of it. He sure had changed. His time in the whiteroom - with the big cat - and what he had been offered, sure had changed him. But he was better now - a better person. Worth more. Special.

The phone rang, beside him, and he reached out to pick it up without looking up, 'Charles Gunn,' he said. He frowned as he listened to the voice at the other end of the line. It was angry. 'I understand,' he said, nodding. The voice buzzed some more in his ear. 'Listen, tell Lord D'hakmarth I promise I will get right on that first thing tomorrow - see if I can't sort it out… no I understand such a thing wouldn't have gone unpunished in Holland Manner's day … no I understand we have an obligation to you to help retrieve his Lordship's property and restore his honour … I will. I will, sir. Uhuh - first thing tomorrow. Don't worry. Goodbye.'

He hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and resting his hands on the top of his head, fingers interlinked. It was definitely time to call it a night. Now he had this new job - this errand to run for Lord D'hakmarth. He needed to get on that, show their clients that they could still trust in Wolfram and Hart to look out for them, even under the new regime. If he didn't take action, the company would lose face - and business. He needed to get to bed so he could do this job bright and early tomorrow. He opened his eyes - just one more paper and then he would definitely leave...

* * *

The orange glow had reached just below Hainsley's elbow. The necromancer was still chanting, channelling Spike through him - using his mind to ease the passage of the ghost's spirit into the new body. Angel still lay trapped on the table, wincing in pain as he felt Hainsley's hand inside his abdomen. The orange glow travelled further - headed for Hainsely's wrist ...

And then it stopped. Hainsley glanced down, frowning. He continued his chanting, trying to force Spike's essence to keep moving but - instead of going forward, the orange glow began to move backward - back up Hainsley's arm and towards his chest, once more. 'Uhh - what?' Hainsley cried out, 'what are you doing?'

Angel felt some of the control over him relax. He turned his head, 'Spike, would you mind?' he asked, glancing down at where Hainsley's hand was sticking out of him. Hainsely watched as, unbidden by him and controlled by Spike, his arm was pulled out of Angel's belly. 'No… no!' Hainsley shouted, as he realised Spike was trapped inside of him now - had taken control of his motor functions - and there was no way to pour his spirit into Angel.

Angel sat up and jumped off the table. 'Can touch you know, Hainsley,' he said. He kicked him across the room. The stout, old man hit the far wall and collapsed to the floor, but he struggled back to his feet and forced his arm out, taking control of Angel's body once again. 'Think you're clever eh? But … uhhnnn!' he stopped and fought an internal struggle with Spike for control, 'Your ghost can't control me for long. I hold the power. I rule the dead.' He stumbled forward - but Spike took hold of him once more, and Angel was free to move again.

'Not today,' Angel said. He threw a punch with his right fist and followed it up with his left. He threw Hainsley against the table in the centre of the room and the old man knocked his head against the corner and fell down to the ground. He lay very still.

Angel approached him cautiously - and that seemed to have been wise because, suddenly, Hainsley's eyes opened again and he got back to his feet. The old man swung his fist and - for an old guy - he had a real right hook on him. He launched himself towards the vampire and the pair of them grappled; struggling, kicking and hitting. Angel managed to throw the man away from himself, again - and then grabbed a blade which he threw at Hainsley. The necromancer's head was cut clean off and - for a moment - Spike's head was suddenly visible poking out of the top of the man's body. 'Oh bollocks,' he said as the decapitated corpse fell to the ground leaving just him standing there. 'I was just getting warmed up.'

'That was you hitting me?' Angel asked him incredulously.

'That last bit, yeah,' Spike shrugged. 'Hainsley's been dead since he hit the table…' he saw the look on Angel's face. 'Oh come on! Had to get a few licks in, didn't I?'

* * *

Doyle and Cordy sat in their office, the morning sunlight streaming in on them. They still weren't used to being able to have the blinds open in the office at all hours - but they had to confess, it made a nice change. They had set up a crime board with all the information they had on Xandra - photographs of her body and the alleyway, a business card from Potemkin's - along with the note another waitress had gone missing. There was a list of possible weapons that could have been used to kill her, and of demons that used weapons. Then there was a list of all the different types of demons they had seen at the bar, the night before - some lines had been drawn between the two lists … having no other clues to go on, they were going to have to check out some of the patrons Xandra had served.

But for now they were both working on the mysterious stolen crate - there were no leads on the Xandra case, and she wasn't going to get any deader - they needed to work this new problem, in case it turned out to be like the time Cordelia remembered from so long ago, when vamps were collecting wooden boxes filled with unkillable demon parts.

Fortunately, when Cordy had ripped the lid of the crate, it hadn't turned out to be a whole big thing with an arm in a box - nothing had jumped out at them and tried to kill them. Instead they had found a small carved statuette inside - about a foot and a half tall. It was a very rough hewn, primitive art looking thing - like an offering carved out of driftwood and abandoned for the seasprites. It was exactly the kind of thing you would walk past in a junk shop and not give a second thought to, other than to notice how ugly it was. But if it was being stolen by vampires then they probably weren't planning to use it to liven up the garden. It was probably powerful and it was probably evil. So they were researching it.

'OK… here's somethin',' Doyle said, lifting the big, heavy book he was reading and showing the page to Cordelia. 'That looks about right, don't y' think?' he tapped the illustration with his index finger - and Cordelia glanced between the picture and the real life statue. 'Yeah,' she said, 'they both look equally squat and ugly - what is it? And why would a vampire want it?'

'It - uhm…' he began to scan down the text, the writing was small and cramped and very close together. 'Uhm … carved in the 800s AD,' he muttered as he looked for the pertinent information, 'thought to be an early representation o' - uhm … Akashelshi? I think ...I'm not sure how to say that … some kind o' trickster spirit…and he - uhm...' he looked up as the office door opened. 'Gunn!' he said in surprise.

'Hey!' Gunn grinned at them both and walked into their office, 'how you guys doing, here?' He looked around, 'man, I remember this place! Only came here that one time … and then helped Angel move out.' He crinkled his forehead, 'don't recall that Angel was much help movin' himself out.'

'He didn't help,' Cordelia said, drily, 'he hung around downstairs like a useless lump, until you and Wes moved most of his furniture to the hotel - and then he went over there to hang around like a useless lump. It was me and Doyle that stuck around and did the tidy up, switched off the lights.'

'And now you're switching them back on again! How's it going?'

Doyle and Cordelia glanced at each other, 'good,' they both agreed. Then Cordy frowned, 'hey, Gunn, not that you're not welcome here or anything but - what are you doing here?'

Gunn cleared his throat and sat down in the chair across the desk from them, 'well, obviously I wanted to drop by and say 'hey',' he said to them, 'been meaning to for a couple of weeks now. But things have been pretty hectic up at Wolfram and Hart - you know how it is.'

'Running the multi-million dollar business that caters to all the evil in all the world?' Cordy shrugged, 'sure, me and Doyle know all about that.'

Gunn chuckled, 'OK - I guess you guys deserve to take at least one shot. But you know what I mean - starting out anywhere new is a busy time. You guys must have been busy setting up this place - heard you took out The Black Tomorrow single handed - you've had a lot on your plate. We have too - and some of what's on your plate has found its way onto my plate - and that's why I'm here.'

Doyle looked confused, 'what the hell are y' talkin about, man?'

'You guys took out a gang of vampires last night, is that correct?' Gunn asked them. They glanced at each other again, and then nodded - yes that was true. 'Right,' Gunn cleared his throat, 'well, see, those vampires happened to work for a very important client of mine. Lord D'hakmarth, very well connected - big mover and shaker in the underworld.'

Cordelia and Doyle exchanged yet another glance, this one increasingly mystified. 'I don't get it?' Cordelia frowned, 'what does it matter who they worked for? They were vampires. _Hello!_ It's our job to kill them.'

'Yeah… I remember when I thought the mission was that simple.'

Doyle raised an eyebrow, '_simple?_' he asked, his tone was getting less friendly.

'Listen, guys,' Gunn leaned forward, 'the good fight - I get it, dusting the vamps, protecting the humans. But see - the thing is, the picture's a whole lot bigger than that. Now - what we're trying to do at Wolfram and Hart is contain all that evil that is represented there - see it's face, learn its game, and find a way to change the rules completely. It's a lot more complicated than poking a bad guy with a pointy stick. But - in order to implement our regime change, we gotta stay in charge - gotta stay at the top. And that means keeping our clients - most of them, anyway - happy. And Lord D'hakmarth is an important client and…' he shook his head, 'he aint happy right about now.'

'_Oh no!_ Did we upset a demon lord of the underworld? How silly of us! _Doyle!_ How could you let us make such a basic mistake as to kill the evil henchmen and upset the bad guy?' She folded her arms across her chest and raised a very sarcastic eyebrow at Gunn.

'Look,' Gunn sighed, 'Lord D'hakmarth is looking for some kind of retribution. He wants the situation escalating - as it would have been under the old regime. You know whenever Angel crossed the path of The Senior Partners they'd launch some kind of attack, go for some form of payback. Now - obviously - we do things differently there, now - and I, for sure, do not want this to become some kind of situation with you guys. You're working your little mission - I respect that. But I gotta tell Lord D'hakmarth something. Keep him happy. Now - according to his Lordship, you took something that belonged to him when you took out his vamps?'

'His vampires were _stealing_ something,' Cordy corrected him. 'Who ever it belonged to - it wasn't this Lord snotty nose.'

'Whatever - do you have it?'

'What if we do?' Doyle asked. His tone had no trace of friendliness left in it now.

'If you just give it to me - I hand it over - and we say no more about it.'

'Gee - and shall we check with every vampire we meet that they don't schmooze with your new buddies before we kill them?' Cordelia scoffed. Doyle chuckled along with her, his laugh was bitter and dark. 'For sure - we don't want our _little mission_ gettin' in the way of canapés and drinkies at the next gatherin' o' the Lords of the Underworld.'

'Do you have it or not?' Gunn asked, wearily.

'And what if we refuse to hand it over?' Cordelia snapped back.

'Then - I guess - I'll be left with no choice but to escalate the situation. Now I don't wanna do that. And I know Angel won't want me to do that. But we can't lose face in front of a demon of Lord D'hakmarth's stature. It'll undermine everything we're tryin' to achieve at Wolfram and Hart - a lot will be lost. I need you to hand it over without causing a fuss so we don't end up working on opposite sides.'

Cordelia looked over at Doyle, he nodded at her and she got up and picked up the wooden crate, sticking the statue back inside of it. 'We're already working on opposite sides,' she said, shoving the box into Gunn's hand.

Gunn looked down at it, 'thanks,' he got back to his feet. 'You know - I don't want it to be this way, guys. I don't wanna not be friends. We're on a different path now but that's no reason to fall out. You got your mission - helping the hopeless, saving the souls - and I got mine.'

'Cocktail parties and afternoon meetings out on the links?'

'Playing the game,' Gunn corrected her, 'the real game - finding out who all the chess pieces are and moving them around to make the world a better place for everyone.'

'And givin' an evil whosit back to Lord D'oasItellyoumonkeyboy is makin' the world a better place for everyone, is it?' Doyle asked. He shook his head in disgust. 'What happened to you man?'

Gunn looked around at their little office: at their home made crime board, their dusty books, their one computer and their old coffee maker. 'I guess I grew up,' he said - and walked out of the door.

* * *

The elevator bell rang and Wesley and Angel walked out together, heading across the lobby. 'I see,' Wesley said, 'so Spike came to you with this plan?'

'More or less,' they stopped by the front desk and Angel handed Harmony a file. 'Once he learned Hainsley used himself as a conduit for body transfers, our trap fell into place.'

'A bit reckless,' Wesley mused, leaning against the desk and frowning. 'Well, if Spike's going to be sticking around, it would be prudent of him to share his plans with the rest of us in future.'

'Yeah, well, sharing's not something Spike does very well,' Angel explained to Wes.

'Preaching to the horse's mouth,' Harmony sighed from behind her desk.

* * *

Fred walked into her office, reading the notes she had on her clipboard. She put them down on her desk, picked up her coffee to take a sip and glanced up. Spike was stood in the doorway, watching her. 'Oh,' she put her coffee back down, 'Spike. What are you… can I help you?'

'Well, that's the heart of it, isn't it? The crux. The nub.'

She looked confused. 'I'm sorry?'

He looked her up and down, taking her all in. 'You're the smart one, aren't you?' he said to her. It sure as hell couldn't be Angel who was the smart one. 'The go to girl who knows all about this ghost mumbo jumbo.'

'Uh,' she laughed nervously, 'actually, Wesley's the occult expert,' she told him - admitting that her expertise was not actually based in the world of the weird. 'He trained as a watcher. He knows about the supernatur-'

But Spike cut her off mid sentence. 'Yeah, but you're the science queen. The hows. The what ifs. That's your cup of tea. You figure things out in that cute little noggin of yours.'

'I guess,' her voice was still as nervous and uncertain as her laugh had been. She didn't know where this was going, why Spike had come to her - out of everyone. 'What … I-Is there something…?'

'I'm slipping,' he told her.

'What?'

'Don't wanna go.' He shook his head, 'but it's like … it's like the ground underneath me is … splitting open and my legs are … straddling both sides of this bloody big chasm. It's getting wider - pulling me in.'

'Is that … is that what's happening when you keep vanishing?' she asked him quietly. He turned so he was looking out of the window, his back to Fred. And when he spoke his voice held the merest hint of a tremble in it. 'I know what's down there,' he admitted, 'where its trying to take me… and it's not the place where heroes go. Not by a bloody long shot. It's the other one. Full of fire and torment. And it's happening. And I'm terrified,' he admitted. He turned to look at Fred again - her face was stricken as she listened to him. That was why he had chosen her - not just because of the science stuff - but because he bloody well couldn't have just said that to Angel, or any of his cronies. But Fred listened - and she cared. 'Help me?' he asked her.

* * *

It was over an hour since Gunn had left, but Cordelia couldn't stop tutting - or settle to anything. She was angry and - having no other way to vent her spleen - was taking her anger out by cleaning the office, furiously.

'You know, darlin' - I can see my own face in those floorboards now,' Doyle said to her. He was sat behind the desk with his feet up on it, watching her, 'and that's great - honest. You're doin' a bang up job but … maybe you've over-cleaned the floors by now, huh?'

'Well - you heard him - our office isn't a _grown ups_ office. No wonder we don't have any clients. We just squat in here like rats.'

Doyle burst out laughing, 'I think you're bein' a little unfair on us - and our housekeepin' - there, love,' he told her. 'Our office is fine. It was fine when worked here with Angel, and it's fine now. The clients are gonna pour through that door - just wait and see.'

'And then what?' she ceased her manic scrubbing and rested back on her heels - looking up at her boyfriend.

'Then we help 'em.'

'Save their souls?'

'Yeah - why not?'

'And that's not too _little_? Too _childish_?'

'Oh - is that what this is about?' He got to his feet, went over to Cordelia and pulled her back up to her own. He wrapped his arms around her. 'Our mission is not little. Our mission is not small or insignificant or simple. Our mission is the same as it has always been. And Gunn can tell himself he's moved on up - but all that's really happened is he's lost the mission, and he isn't willin' to admit that yet. What _we_ are doin',' he kissed her, 'are followin' the instructions of the higher powers to make sure that the people in this city are safe from the things that go bump in the night. What _they_ are doin',' he kissed her again, 'is dancin' to the tune o' The Senior Partners and bendin' over to let everythin' that goes bump in the night right royally shaft 'em - and tellin' themselves that they're lookin' at the big picture. But they're lyin' to themselves. They're getting screwed. They've been seduced by the dark side and now it's screwin' them … and it's our job to make sure it doesn't screw us - or anyone else in this fair city.'

'But can we do it? Can we even make a difference? The evil is so big and …' she pulled herself out of Doyle's arms and walked up the crime board, looking at the pictures of Xandra's body, 'we didn't manage to keep her safe. Did we?'

'No.' he came up behind her and wrapped his arms about her waist and kissed her on her jawline, 'we couldn't keep her safe. But we can find whatever did this to her - and stop it - and make sure it never happens again. And we will.'

* * *

Linden ran down the road, the sweat pouring down his green skin - his legs shaking beneath him, ready to collapse. But he could hear the sound of them getting closer - the sound of their jackboots thundering against the ground. He fled onward, his heart pounding in his chest, feeling like it would surely explode any second - his lungs burning in agony as he struggled to breathe. A stitch was digging into his side - a sharp shooting pain, telling him to stop. But they were gaining on him - he couldn't stop, so he just wrapped one arm about his midsection - and pushed himself harder.

He turned down the next alley … and realised his mistake. They'd chased him down a dead end. It had all been a set up,. They'd guided him right to this place. He turned around, hoping to make it back out of the alley before they got to him. But it was too late. There was a sudden flash, as the sunlight gleamed against the polished blade of a sword. And then the sword was swung right at Linden's face. And then everything went black.

* * *

**A/N next episode is 'Unleashed' - part one will be posted on Friday. **


	10. Unleashed: Part One

**Unleashed**

_Part One_

_Clink _the champagne glasses nudged together in a toast, and Cordelia giggled. 'To you, darlin',' Doyle said, leaning in to kiss her. 'To me,' she agreed, 'and my brilliant new career.'

'You're gonna knock 'em dead.'

'But not literally - the pay is good, and I wanna get paid!' She took a sip of her drink and then wrinkled her nose, as the bubbles didn't so much tickle it as sting it. 'And once I get paid we can celebrate with some actual good stuff,' she said, pulling a face and putting her champagne glass down.

'Yeah,' Doyle grimaced as he took a sip of his own, but then went in for another like a champ. 'Champagne that comes in boxes, not bottles, doesn't taste good - who knew?'

'We have been having to be a bit tight with the penny pinching of late,' Cordelia said, she wriggled round on the sofa and rested her head on Doyle's shoulder, 'but this should ease our more urgent money worries - for a while at least.'

'And I'll try not to miss y' too terribly when I'm all alone in the office,' he smiled down at her and kissed the top of her head. 'Just don't forget me when y' on that set bein' schmoozed by execs and corporate types and posing next to glistening hunks of male models.'

She giggled again, 'it's only two days, Doyle,' she pointed out. 'We shoot the commercial tomorrow and then the photoshoot the day after. And then I'll be back,' she glanced up at him, 'ready to hunt demons and squish evil things.' She leaned in for a kiss, 'how could a glistening hunk of male model make me forget all that excitement?' She snuggled back down and nuzzled closer to him.

'Y'know - I'm just surprised that Jenkins' guy was able to book you such a high class gig,' Doyle said. 'Not that you're not the most beautiful woman in the world - y' are - and so I'm not surprised these guys'd want y' … but I'm surprised Jenkins had the chops to get y' noticed by them. He was very clear it would be low level - catalogue - sorta stuff.'

'He was as surprised as anybody,' Cordelia said, 'they rang him - he doesn't even know how they got hold of my headshots. But they asked for me specifically…' she frowned, her forehead crinkling a little as she thought. 'I guess maybe they remember me from the 'Stain Be Gone' ads?'

'That's goin' back a long way now, love… I mean, you were brilliant in 'em - real star power … but even we've taped over some o' your reel.'

'_Wes_ taped over it,' she corrected, 'with his James Bond impression and a weird striptease. But most of my commercials are still there - and that time I went on that sleazy talk show. Remember that?'

'I do.'

'And the rest of that tape is the ad we made that time - you know the one where I made you advertise the original Angel Investigations?'

'Yeah - I think you said I was more 'weasel' than 'everyman'.'

She laughed, 'and I stand by those words! … maybe we should do another commercial? Try and bring in some walk in clients.'

'Well - if that's what y' decide … y' filmin' it yourself. That was my one and only foray into the world o' television. You're the one with the star power.'

'Well - maybe once my face is up on billboards and the commercial is airing all over the country that might be true.' She yawned. 'I need to go to bed,' she said. 'I've got an early start in the morning and I can't risk having bags under my eyes… Dennis?' she yawned again, 'will you get rid of this awful champagne?'

The box of champagne and the two glasses floated off into the kitchen - and Cordelia climbed off the sofa, pulled Doyle up behind her and led him into the bedroom, holding hands.

* * *

The team sat out in the park - way across town from the Wolfram and Hart offices - perched on a picnic table. 'Hey, uh, who wants some mushu?' Lorne asked, 'I've got beaucoup de mushu, here.'

'I'll take some, thanks,' Fred said. 'Angel this picnic was a really good idea...' She held a scanner in her hand and was using it on Wesley. Lorne was operating a machine out of a briefcase. There was no food on the table.

'Yeah - why haven't we done this before now?' Gunn asked.

'Well … you know, we've all been working so hard,' Angel shrugged. Fred switched off her scanner, 'we're clean,' she informed the men. 'Nobody's listening.' Immediately the casual tone to their voices vanished - as did the phoney discussion about a picnic. Angel looked across at Wesley, 'you were late,' he said.

'Thought I was being followed.'

Gunn looked around at everyone - it just seemed strange that they were going to such lengths to hide from the company they worked for - that they were supposed to be in charge of.

'But we're not in charge,' Angel told him, 'not really. The Senior Partners have us there playing their game and, until we figure out what it is, we're bound by their rules. We can't ever really speak openly when we're in the office. We don't know who may be listening - who is looking to stab us in the back.'

'But they're not all evil,' Fred said, 'I mean - some of them I see more than I see you.'

'And you think you can trust him?' Wesley asked her - his voice was hard and his words rapped out like machine gun bullets. She looked at him, frowning. 'Them,' he amended, turning away from her. 'Do you think you can trust them?'

'We don't know who we can trust - but we know we can't trust The Senior Partners - or Lilah,' Angel said. He looked at Wesley, 'I hope your days of sharing confidences are over.'

'Lilah and I shared many things,' Wesley replied, curtly, 'but never confidences. We always knew we were fighting on opposite sides of the war.'

'But now her side has brought you - and all of us - into their sphere of influence,' Angel said. 'They've brought us in to corrupt and mould us to their will - and we have to keep our eyes open - stay alert - for every trick they play. We've got to see the traps coming, got to be ready for them.'

'What about Gunn?' Wesley asked, looking at him. Gunn looked annoyed, 'what about me?'

The rest of the team looked uncomfortable - and it was Fred who voiced their concern. That with all the information they'd put in his head - all the law knowledge, the demon languages, maybe he knew more than the rest of them. Had a better idea of what the Senior Partners were up to.

'The alteration to your mental capacity-' Wesley started to say. But Gunn cut him off, 'my capacity's the same as it's always been. The good doctor just revved up some idling brain cells and set 'em in motion.'

'It's a legitimate concern,' Angel said, 'you gave them access-' But Gunn only rolled his eyes - and when he spoke, his voice was heated. 'I made a deal. We all did. Seems like I'm the only one that's willing to accept that. Everybody here got something outta this.'

'Fear, mistrust … a great motorpool.'

'I got the Nancy Sinatra collection, original 45s,' Lorne said.

'And I got this rather nice pen,' Wesley said, taking the pen out of his pocket and looking at it fondly. 'Sterling. Has my name on it … which is not the point,' he said, remembering himself.

'No the point is what? That I'm some spy for The Senior Partners?' Gunn asked, sounding annoyed.

'No one's saying that,' Angel assured him.

'Just thinking it.'

'No, Charles,' Fred shook her head.

'The Point is The Senior Partners have a plan for all of us,' Angel said to them, 'and if we're not ready…' he trailed off.

'What is it?' Lorne asked him. But Angel didn't answer the question. 'Hey, Wes, can I borrow your pen?'

Wesley looked irritated - but handed his silver pen over - and, once he had taken it, Angel vanished from the picnic table.

* * *

A woman ran through the woods - chased by a hideous, hairy, snarling … _thing. _She couldn't outrun it - it was too fast, too strong. With a snarl, it knocked her to the ground and she screamed. She saw a flash of fangs and fur in the moonlight and then felt its teeth rip into her neck and its claws tear into her shoulder. She screamed again.

Angel reached out and pulled the monster away from her - hauling it off her. It struggled to get free and then turned, snapping its jaws at Angel. He punched the creature and then rammed Wesley's pen deep into its chest. The creature fell to the ground and immediately shifted shape, turning into the naked body of a middle aged man, lying dead on the ground. Angel stared down at him - and then looked up as he heard the sound of tyres screeching. He looked around - the woman had disappeared during the fight and had now driven away.

'Damn it!'

* * *

The office seemed unusually quiet without Cordy in it. Doyle didn't like it - the whole place seemed dead and still. A shaft of sunlight fell through the window and hit the floor and the whole place was so sleepy and silent that Doyle could actually see the dust motes dancing in the sunshine … he tilted his head to watch, it was weirdly hypnotic.

The sound of a distant door slamming, somewhere else in the building, made him snap out of his reverie, he shook his head - just because Cordy wasn't here didn't mean he didn't have work to do. He poured himself a coffee and then stood drinking it as he perused their crime board. They still hadn't found out what had happened to Xandra - the demon girl he had found dead the week before - and they'd made no headway whatsoever on tracking down the other demon waitress that had gone missing, before her. He needed to reach out and speak to some of his old contacts, see if anyone knew anything - anything at all.

He went to go sit behind the desk and then put his feet up. Cradling his coffee cup in one hand, he picked up the phone, balanced the receiver between his ear and shoulder and dialled. It was answered on the third ring.

'Oh, hey, Vito, it's Doyle,' Doyle greeted him, 'listen - I got a couple o' questions, was hopin' y' might be able to help…' Vito was the Lubbock demon who ran the poker ring Doyle sometimes played in - he wasn't a bad guy for a demon, and he was well connected. And he knew the Potemkin nightclub - the place Xandra had worked - like the back of his webbed, green hand. Doyle couldn't think of a single better person - demon - to turn to.

'A couple o' days ago I found this girl, demon, name o' Xandra. She'd been murdered - butchered pretty bad, looks like whatever did it had fun. I've drawn a blank on her so far, but I have found out that another girl who worked the same place as her went missin' a while back. I wondered if you'd heard anythin'? … no huh? What about the guys in the ring?'

He took a sip of his coffee as he listened to Vito talk. There was a game planned for today - Doyle could cut in on it, if he wanted - see what he could find out. The Irishman twisted his mouth as he considered it. 'I'd better not,' he said, 'my business is undergoin' - uh - a change o' management and money's pretty tight. My girlfriend would kill me if she found out I'd laid down cash we don't have to play poker. Is there any chance you could keep an ear out for me? I could reimburse y' … not much, but somethin'.'

Down the other end of the line, Vito scoffed a little and asked what was in it for him. 'Look,' Doyle sighed, 'I just wanna find out what murdered this poor girl and stop it before it does the same to someone else. It's in all our interests to find this thing. Please?'

There was the sound of grumbling, Vito huffing and puffing - but in the end he agreed. 'Thanks man,' Doyle said to him, 'I owe y' one. Can I meet you after the game? Uhuh … uhuh…' he grabbed a pen and scribbled down an address, 'great. See you then. Thanks, man.' He put the phone down and smiled to himself - hopefully they would start to make some headway, now.

* * *

'She was bitten, I smelled her blood,' Angel said to Gunn - they walked through the Wolfram and Hart Lobby, on their way to the lab. Angel was holding a sketch of the woman from the night before that he had drawn - they needed to find her. The thing that had attacked her was unmistakably a werewolf, and now she was infected. Last night had only been the first night in the full moon cycle - there were two more nights to go, and she would transform for both of them. '12 hours until moonrise,' Angel said, looking at his watch, 'if she hurts anyone …'

'She won't ,' Gunn assured him, 'we'll find her.'

'We better - she won't even know what's happening to her.'

'She'll figure it out.' Gunn pressed the button to call the elevator, 'Mcmanus did - the guy you… killed. I pulled his credit cards, records - cross referenced them with police reports.' He opened the folder he was holding and read the notes in there. 'Left his wife and kids a couple of years ago, kept moving - staying in the middle of nowhere most of the time. First year or so, a few mangled bodies showed up here and there, but these last six months - guy was leaving corpses like bread crumbs.'

'Probably tried to control it for a while but then just gave up.' The elevator arrived and they stepped inside, Angel pushed the button for the science department floor. 'Thought he had to fight it alone, ended up with nothing worth fighting for. But this girl's not alone - she's got us.'

* * *

Cordelia grinned to herself as she looked around the set of her commercial. Oh yeah - this was where she was supposed to be - not down in the sewers fighting slime monsters and snot demons like some kind of ... _Buffy_. This was so much more glamorous - it was totally her. She had a folding chair with her name on it, there was a trestle table laden with pastries and bacon rolls and coffee, some little guy kept popping up to ask her if she needed anything and, all in all, everyone here was a gazillion times nicer than they had been back on that suntan lotion commercial all those years ago. And it was way more high end than anything 'Stain Be Gone' had ever managed. If she'd known it could be as good as this, she would never have given up in the first place. She bit down on her Danish, took a sip of her coffee and then looked around the room, nodding her head. Oh yeah …

'Ms. Chase, we're ready for you now,' a woman with a clipboard told her.

'Oh, right,' she got down from her chair and then glanced around wondering what to do with her snacks. Immediately the little guy appeared at her side and took them from her. 'Thanks,' she smiled. She took off her robe, revealing her costume beneath, and the little guy took that as well, with a reverent head nod. 'Everyone here is so sweet,' she said to the woman with the clipboard, then she walked over to the set.

'And this must be our star!' the director held open his arms to admire her, 'Cordelia, darling, you are To. Die. For.' He gave her an appreciative glance. She glanced down at herself and blushed a little. Truth be told she wasn't wearing a whole lot more than she had on the set of the disastrous suntan commercial. But somehow it felt completely different being in nothing but her underwear, here, than it had in that string bikini with that sleazoid director. 'Gentlemen,' the director turned to three pale, sweaty guys in suits, 'this is Cordelia Chase - our new face of 'Unleashed' - and what a face huh? Cordy, darling, these are the company execs - they're here to check we get their commercial just right.'

She smiled and greeted them, 'wow - cold hands,' she said as she shook hands.

'Yeah - well,' the director chuckled, awkwardly, 'let's get you and Fabio into position.' She was taken onto the set and put on her marker. Then the makeup girl and hairdresser came and did last minute touches - across from her, a very muscular, tall, chiselled man wearing nothing but boxer briefs was having the same done to him. She suppressed a smile as she thought about what Doyle would say if he could see her leading man.

The makeup women finished up and scurried from the set - the lights were turned on them and then the director called for action. The commercial was … well it was for a new perfume, 'Unleashed', and perfume ads were always baffling. There was a lot of dry ice and a wind machine, she and Fabio rubbed their hands all over each other and almost kissed but never quite did - all with deadly serious expressions on their faces. They were probably filming this in black and white for added artistic effect.

As Fabio lifted her into his arms and turned in a circle - whilst staring solemnly and earnestly up into her eyes - she realised just how dark it was in the room - beyond the confines of the set. He lowered her to the floor and they began their almost kissing again and, from her now horizontal position, she noticed that the windows - which were all high up - were covered in thick drapes - like black out curtain material. Sure, getting the right lighting was important - but blackout drapes was surely overkill, she thought - as she reached out to stop Fabio tracing a sensuous finger down her body, like she was shy and it was too tempting - or whatever it was they were going for. He pulled her back up into a sitting position and they leaned in for another almost kiss and it was as her head swayed from side to side, never quite meeting lips with her partner - that her gaze fell upon the group of pale, sweaty execs lurking in the gloom caused by those thick drapes. Those drapes were very thick - and those guys were very pale … and their hands had been very cold …

'Oh crap,' she said out loud, before she could stop herself - and immediately bit her lip. The whole scene broke down, Fabio pulled back from her looking annoyed. 'Cut!' yelled the director.

* * *

Fred was holed up in her office, reading printouts and reports - her glasses were balanced on the end of her nose and she was muttering under her breath as she read. 'Well - aren't we the busy little beaver,' Spke said, appearing through the wall. She looked up at him, distracted, 'hi, Spike.'

'I don't suppose all this bugaboo's about yours ghostly?' he asked, indicating her piles of paperwork. But she shook her head - no she wasn't working his case right now, she was working on the missing girl - the new werewolf. 'I'm sorry,' she told him, 'I'm kind of busy right now with a situation.'

'I'm a situation!' he protested, 'remember? I'm a bloody phantom. And you and your serious girl spectacles were gonna help me with my bloody little problem.'

'And I _bloody_ will - but not right now,' she headed for the door.

'It's getting worse,' he said to her. She stopped in her tracks and turned back to look at him. He nodded, 'my winking out of existence. And I'm not talking about quick pops to the netherworld - they're lasting longer now.'

'How long?' her voice was soft and she looked troubled.

'Feels like forever,' he turned to look out of the window so he didn't have to look at her, so she wouldn't see the fear written plain on his face. 'Something's trying to hold onto me - on the other side - and if you don't do something soon, one of these times … I may not come back.'

'Wesley might be able to -' But Spike cut her off. He didn't want to go to anybody else. Didn't want other people knowing about his condition. The last thing he needed was this getting back to Angel.

'Spike - I appreciate your condition,' Fred told him, 'but right now we have more pressing concerns. Like finding and helping this girl.'

'And me, I'm just left to fade into nothingness.'

She shook her head at him, 'no need to be so dramatic. Look, just try not to disappear and we'll figure it out eventually. This place?' we have access to everything.'

* * *

'We're useless!' Angel exclaimed, pacing the lab - as Fred, Wes and Gunn all sat at separate computers working busily. 'This is what you're telling me?' he waved his arms around to take in the whole multi million dollar laboratory, 'all these resources… 2 years of history on a dead guy and we can't get a single lead on a breathing, living girl.'

'Fingerprints,' Fred explained, with a shrug, 'have his, don't have hers.'

'There must be something at the attack scene.'

'So far not even an earring,' Wesley told him. Angel sighed and handed his sketch of the girl over to a lab assistant, telling him he wanted people out on the streets with flyers in 15 minutes - asking if anyone had seen her. Any news was to be brought back to Angel immediately. The lab assistant nodded and took away the sketch - and Angel turned back to Fred. 'tyre prints?' he asked her.

'I'm trying - this takes time.'

Wesley handed a piece of paper to the vampire. He had had the psychics work with traces of the girls blood, they had been able to pick up images - imprints- they had drawn what they had found. Angel squinted at it. 'Must be her bedroom - can they make this clearer?'

'It's not like a photograph.'

Angel tutted in disgust and turned to speak with the cryptozoologist who was examining the dead body of the man Angel killed. 'Rare breed you've got here,' the doctor said to him.

'This is Dr. Royce,' Wesley introduced him, 'I brought him in so we'd know what we were dealing with once we found the girl.'

'Lycanthropus exterus,' Dr. Royce told the team, 'undocumented in North America … until now, obviously.'

'How is it different to a standard werewolf?' Fred asked, curiously.

'Oh, biped for one thing. Walks upright. Canines are a bit longer than normal. Arm span is…'

'I don't care about this,' Angel interrupted him, impatiently 'all I care about is finding the girl.'

* * *

Nina rolled over in her bed and pried her eyes open - the light hurt them and she felt groggy and sweaty, like she was just recovering from a long illness. She had no idea what time it was - but everything ached, even the bed felt uncomfortable, and the light was too bright and every little noise too loud. She wished she could fall back into unconsciousness again; black out - and so blot out the dizzying way the world seemed to swim … but the sound of laughter from downstairs was cutting into her - sharp and distinct. She could hear it far too clearly, it was far too loud - she couldn't sleep with her senses on overload - so she forced herself out of bed and stumbled her way downstairs.

She found her sister and young niece cooking in the kitchen - the source of the too sharp laughter. 'Hey,' her sister greeted her, 'look who's up.'

Nina smiled at her, but it was bleary, she felt like she was moving through a fog - like she wasn't quite here ...and every inch of her still ached to the bone. 'How long was I out?'

'All day - I figured you must be sick… Zach called. He said he missed you in life drawing.'

'That's nice,' she said distractedly. She was having trouble focusing. There was a buzzing sound - loud and intrusive coming from over by the window. She snapped her head round to look - it sounded like a buzz saw right in her ear … but it was coming from an ordinary fly. Her niece was staring at her. 'Why is your neck purple?' she asked.

'I… don't know.' Nina pushed her hair out of the way and peered into the teakettle to look at her reflection. Her niece was right - her neck was bruised and discoloured, but she had no memory of anything that could have caused this. 'I must have … tripped on my run.' She suddenly turned to look at the burgers cooking on the grill, 'don't overcook the meat,' she warned. They seemed strangely tempting - sizzling away, the fat glistening on them - she had a sudden ravenous urge to eat them raw.

'Are you sure you're still up for watching Amanda tonight?' her sister asked, looking worried as Nina spaced out. 'I could try to change my shift.'

'No - no I'm fine. I just need to…' she spaced out again, lured in by the blood sizzling on the meat.

'Aunt Nina?' Amanda said, sounding worried. Nina looked up at her niece - and her eyes widened in horror as she saw something reach out and slash across Amanda's throat and then there were bright red claw marks and all that blood glistening and … she shook herself. Amanda was unhurt, it was all in Nina's imagination… but she could still feel the blood and the torn flesh, still smell it - and her heart was pounding.

'Are you OK?' Amanda asked her.

'Fine. I'm fine.'

* * *

Doyle arrived at the bar, where he was meeting his contact, and ordered two beers and a bag of pretzels. He ripped the packet open fully and lay them out on the counter, and then took a swig of his beer as he waited for Vito to arrive. A couple of minutes later, the demon entered the bar. As always, he had his collar pulled up high and a cap pulled down low to try and hide as much of his face as possible. Lubbock demons were green and bloaty and scaly. They looked more like giant toads than anything else - but Vito was a decent enough guy. He came over and slid onto the bar stool next to Doyle.

'Hey, thanks for comin',' Doyle said to him, 'I got you a beer - help yourself to pretzels.' Vito grabbed a handful and picked up his drink. Doyle let him take a few swigs and eat his snacks before he started questioning him. 'So … did y' hear anythin' about my dead demon girl?'

'Heard a couple of things,' Vito said, grabbing another handful of pretzels. 'Arnie - you know Arnie - Skalof demon...'

'Sure, sure, I've met Arnie.'

'Well I don't know if you know, but your girl was a Goyra.'

'Yeah I knew that.'

'Well - turns out Skalof demons are distant cousins of Goyra demons. Arnie didn't know this chick personally, but he gave me a number - family in Ohio - they might know something more.'

'That's great, man, we've found nothin' on her, here. She was new in town - kept to herself. Can't figure why anyone would want to hurt her.' He reached out and took the number from Vito, glanced at it, and then put it in his pocket.

'Yeah, well, that's where the rest of what I heard comes in … one of my boys knew the other girl that went missing, the other one you mentioned. Knew her from her Potemkin days. She'd just put a down payment on a condo when she disappeared - she'd been saving up for months.'

Doyle whistled, 'so not likely she'd skip town then?'

'My thoughts exactly.'

'So there _is_ somethin' out there killin' off these girls.'

'Yeah - well - before you start crafting theories about some Jack the Ripper, bumpin' off the demon broads - cool your jets. 'Cause there was another killing a few days ago. Just like the Goyra girl - down an alley - hatchet job - this one was a man.'

'You know what kind of demon he was?'

'By the time they found him - there wasn't enough of him left to find out. But from what they can tell, he was smallish and green.'

'So … somethin's killin' demons indiscriminately?'

'Seems like.' Vito took a long swig of his beer and stared at Doyle, reflectively. 'Alvis says you run with a slayer now?'

He nodded, 'my girlfriend, Cordy - yeah.'

'Aint never heard of a slayer dating a demon before.'

Doyle chuckled, 'actually, it's more common than y' think, bud.'

'Yeah? And it's not your chickadee doin' this?'

'O' course not - she's a vampire slayer. She doesn't butcher any ol' demon she comes across.'

'Isn't that her job?'

'Nope.' He shook his head.

'And what about the rest? … seems like there's a lot of slayers running around all of a sudden.'

'Well - there is. But it's not Cordy doin' this - and if it's another slayer we'll stop 'em. And if it's a demon, we'll stop them, too. What's goin' on isn't right. Cordy knows that as well as we do.'

'Right - well,' he got down from his bar stool, 'that's all I got, thanks for the beer and pretzels.'

'Thanks, man,' Doyle reached into his pocket and took out a few notes for him. But Vito stopped him, 'save it,' he said. 'You said money's tight. You and your slayer just find whatever it is that's killing us - and stop it.'

Doyle nodded, gratefully, 'we will,' he promised.

* * *

The whole team were gathered in the lab now - even Spike was there, pacing up and down - smirking as they struggled to make any headway. Fred was examining a photo of the tyre marks - she held it out to Angel and pointed at some fine lines that were just visible, 'bad for the car, great for us,' she told him, 'they mean old tyres, at least 5 years old.'

And Gunn had yet more good news, he put the phone down and told Angel that someone had recognised the girl from the sketch. 'They saw your girl last night - East Hollywood.'

'All right - so we're looking for a mid sized sedan, at least 5 years old, somewhere in the East Hollywood area,' Angel reiterated. Spike smirked. 'Tick tock tick tock,' he jibed, 'the moon's a-risin', ladies and gents.'

'I'm in the DMV database,' Wesley said from over by his computer, where he was inputting their known information and watching the results flash across his screen, 'but there are thousands of possible matches.'

'Colour me clever,' Lorne said, he straightened up from where he had been peering at Wesley's screen and turned to the rest of them, 'sister gets slammed around by a werewolf - she's putting pedal to metal. Red light, green light what's the dif?'

'Traffic cameras!' Gunn realised, 'we networked?' He hurried over to his computer and brought up the photos taken by the traffic cameras the previous night. 'I'm looking at the cameras,' he glanced across at Wesley, 'you get set to run with it if I find a match…. 'Course I might leak the info to The Senior Partner's 'cause we're tight.'

'Just do it,' Wes rolled his eyes.

'Is the van ready?' Angel asked Fred.

'Yes - I triple checked.'

'Good, 'cause we got less than an hour.'

'You know this is an awful lot of fuss over one girl,' Spike said to Fred. she frowned at him. 'Other things to do around here,' he told her, 'important things.'

Angel stared at him in irritation, 'You know that _woosh_ thing that you do where your suddenly not there anymore? I love that!'

Spike opened his mouth to retort but was cut off by Gunn finding a match. At 10:19 the previous night the woman from the sketch had run a red light at Western and Franklin. She was driving a 1992 Honda Civic - license number: 2ABM 543.

Wesley typed the license plate into the DMV database, there was a hit and the info flashed up. 'Address: 2315 Harvard,' he read. 'Name: Nina Ash.'

* * *

Nina and Amanda sat in the living room - it was dark outside and they had drawn the curtains. Amanda was lying on the floor drawing pictures. Nina watched her - the sound of the pencil against the paper was grating. She could hear it - really distinctly - dragging along. She spaced out again as she stared at the pencil. 'What's wrong?' Amanda asked her, noticing she seemed ill again. Nina shook herself. 'I'm gonna …' she spaced again for a moment, '...lie down,' she finished up.

She got up off the sofa and stumbled out to the hall and up the stairs. She'd been aching all day, but now - it was like her bones were on fire. She felt feverish and weak. She made it to her bedroom, closed the door - and then collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Down in the living room, Amanda looked up, hearing the thump and went to investigate. 'Aunt Nina?' she called from the foot of the stairs.

Lying on the floor Nina began to grunt and groan.

'Aunt Nina?' Amanda was on the landing now - and outside Nina's door, knocking.

Inside the room, Nina's teeth grew sharp and long and she stared in horror as her hand transformed into a furry paw with vicious claws, right in front of her eyes.


	11. Unleashed: Part Two

_Part Two_

When Cordelia arrived back at her apartment, she found that Doyle was already there - and dinner was on the table. The lights were dimmed low and he had lit candles. 'What's this?' she asked, looking around smiling, 'you cooked?'

'I ordered takeout and put it onto nice plates.'

'Mmm even better.' She gave him a brief kiss hello. 'And what have I done to deserve take out food by candlelight?' she asked him.

'What?' he shrugged, 'can't a fella just want to treat his girlfriend, once in a while. When she's been out working…' he shuffled his feet and lowered his voice to an under the breath mutter, 'with half naked, tall men ... who spend too much time in the gym... and whose oiled up pectorals glisten in the light, like a mirage in the desert, promising cool water on a hot day?'

She shook her head, looking deeply amused. 'You've put _way_ too much thought into that,' she told him. 'Should I be worried? Is this like your Angel crush?' she teased. She kissed him again, 'his name is Fabio - by the way - Mr. Mirage Pectorals.'

'I might've known,' Doyle snorted. 'And his pectorals - are they …?'

'You could knock on 'em,' she told her boyfriend. 'And his abs you could grate cheese on. I think the word they use is "washboard".' She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him, 'but he can keep them. That's not what I'm into at all.'

He raised an eyebrow at her, and pulled away slightly to scrutinise her better 'it's not?'

'Uh uh,' she shook her head and pulled him closer again. 'I'm only into you.' She kissed him again and then pulled away, 'but if you want me to get Fabio's number for you - I'll understand, he really does have epic pectorals.'

'I'm tempted,' he chuckled, 'but I'll wait until I've seen the commercial before I decide whether to call him for a hookup, yeah? He might not be my type after all.'

'He doesn't wear a long, swishy coat that's all mysterious and billowy and attractive - and I know that's your thing… he's practically naked.'

'How naked?' Doyle asked suspiciously.

'Wait for the commercial,' she grinned - and pulled herself free from his arms so she could take her shoes and jacket off. Then she sat down at the table and picked up her fork. 'I got Thai,' Doyle said, taking the seat next to her, 'is that OK?'

'Mhhmm,' she nodded through a mouthful of noodles. He smiled. 'I'll take that as a yes. So… naked Fabio aside, how was your day?'

'Great -' she said enthusiastically, after she swallowed. 'Everyone was nice to me, there were free pastries … and oh yeah, the company execs are vampires.'

'Huh.'

'At least I think they are - apart from this one guy that had horns.'

'So the commercial is evil?' Doyle asked.

She put her fork down and thought about it. 'I don't know that the _commercial_ is evil,' she said, 'but the guys running it are.'

'So what are you gonna do?'

She shrugged, 'do the photoshoot, kill the bad guys.'

'You still gonna do the photoshoot?'

'We need the money - and this is just the first of many. I'm the face of 'Unleashed' now. This could put my name on the map. You know - as long as no one works out it was me that ... you know … killed the company guys.'

'I guess - you want any help killin' the bad guys?'

'It's OK - I can handle it. It's just a couple of vamps in suits - and a guy with horns. And you've got bigger things to worry about back at the office, speaking of which - how was your day?'

He swallowed his mouthful of Pad Thai and told her about the progress he'd made on Xandra's case. 'Spoke to a guy who spoke to a guy who doesn't know her but knows her family. I got a number to call. I'll ring 'em tomorrow.'

'And you think they might know something?'

But Doyle shook his head, he wasn't expecting much in the way of answers from all the way over in Ohio. What he was expecting was that they could rule out that this kill was somehow personal - that Xandra had been targeted because of something going on in her own life. 'That other demon girl that's missin' - she'd just bought a house when she vanished,' he told Cordy, 'she really doesn't sound like someone who was looking to buck. And then there's been another death - a male demon this time. No one even knows who he was, there was so little of him left.'

Cordy screwed her face up in distaste.

'Yeah,' Doyle said, seeing her expression, 'trouble is, no one has any idea who's behind all this. Main suspect amongst the demon types so far is - well - you, darlin'.'

'_Me_?' She sounded outraged.

He shrugged, 'they're twitchy about all the new slayers running around the world - you can't blame a demon for not bein' happy that one of the chosen has turned up on his turf.'

'But you defended me right? You told them all it wasn't me!'

'Of course I did! I told 'em you were on the case - now they're lookin' to us to stop it … I just don't know where we go from here.'

'Well, we'll figure something out,' she leaned across the table to kiss him, 'thanks for dinner,' she said, 'you're so thoughtful.'

'Well - you earned it. Literally - I used your credit card.'

She threw back her head and laughed. 'I swear, Doyle, you are such a skank sometimes!'

'What? You're the one earnin' the big bucks now! How else can we afford it?'

She threw her napkin at him and continued to laugh.

* * *

Nina's body spasmed on the floor, her bones snapped and broke and reformed - growing longer and changing shape. Her face changed shape as well - her mouth and nose elongating into a muzzle. Curling hair sprouted all over her body and her canine teeth sharpened and lengthened - and then there was no more Nina. Just the wolf.

...

'Aunt Nina?' Amanda was still outside, knocking on the door, 'are you OK? Can I come in?' There was no reply and she knocked again - getting frightened.

...

Inside the room, the wolf sensed the little girl - standing just feet away behind the door - and it got to its feet, growling. Fresh meat.

'Hey Doggy!' the wolf turned - there was more meat sitting right in the window. This meat was bigger - better.

'Come and get it,' Angel said - and the werewolf lunged straight at him. He grabbed hold of it and pulled it out through the window - safely away from the little girl - and they both fell from the roof and landed heavily in the yard below.

They rolled over on the ground - a frenetic whirl of fists and fur and fangs - and then the wolf suddenly went still and collapsed. A tranq dart was embedded in its side. Angel scrambled to his feet and looked across at Wesley, who still held the gun. 'Nice shot,' he said.

* * *

Doyle lay on his back, under the covers. His eyes were closed and his chest was rising and falling evenly as his breathing became deep and regular … he was almost asleep. His arms were wrapped around Cordelia and the last wakeful corner of his mind could feel her fingers softly tracing the skin of his chest.

'What will you say to them?' Cordelia asked, all of sudden. He forced his eyes opened. 'What?'

'When you ring that poor girl's family tomorrow - what will you say to them?'

The cobwebs of sleep were blown away instantly, and he was fully awake again. 'I don't know … I hadn't really thought about … I mean,' he wriggled uncomfortably, 'it probably won't be her actual family I talk to - more likely a clan elder - I hope…' He hadn't considered the possibility that it might be Xandra's parents on the phone, that he would have to break the news to them that their daughter was dead. He'd been thinking of it as following up a lead.

'You'll have to be tactful,' Cordelia said to him, 'kind, break the news gently and you know - ask questions but don't be obnoxious about pushing. If it's not the right time - if the shock is too much for them … you'd be better just leaving our number and asking them to get in contact if they think of anything.'

'Hang on a minute,' he couldn't help smiling - despite the seriousness of the conversation, 'lemme get this straight, darlin'. _You_ are telling _me_ how to be tactful. Is that what I'm hearin' right now?'

She smiled, her head was still rested on his chest. 'I just don't want you to screw this up.'

'I won't.'

'I know you won't,' she raised her head and then propped herself up on her elbow so she could look down at him, through the dark, 'but you gotta think about what you're gonna say before you dial the number.'

'I guess that depends on who I actually end up talkin' to.'

'Then you need to plan for every outcome. You have to break this awful news - and you have to question them … we have to get this right. We can't screw up telling someone that their daughter died - _that _you have to get right.'

'Don't worry about it,' he reached up and stroked a tendril of her hair. 'I'm good at tact.'

'Better than me, anyways,'

'Much, much better,' he agreed. They both laughed, and he pulled her back down so she was lying in his arms once more. 'You go to sleep,' he told her, kissing her on the forehead, 'you got photos to pose for and vampires to kill in the mornin'. I'll take care o' everythin' else.'

She snuggled back down, deeper into his arms and closed her eyes. 'I love you,' she said.

'I love you too.' He held her tightly and closed his eyes, made his breathing deep and regular once again - and tried to fall back into the cobwebs of sleep.

* * *

Nina woke up into a living nightmare. She was lying on a cold, hard floor in a dimly lit space and - when she lifted her head - she realised there were prison bars. She had been locked in a cage - and she was naked. And her skin was sore - giant, red raw scratches were gouged into her shoulders. She felt her whole body tense, and her breath caught in her throat like a little sob. She had no recollection of getting here - and from the ache in her limbs, the pounding of her head and the cotton wool dryness of her mouth - she guessed she had been drugged. She had been drugged and kidnapped and locked, naked, in a cage - and God only knew what was going to happen to her, or what had already happened - for she had no memory of the night before.

She heard a door being opened - and then the sound of footsteps coming closer. Her heart pounded against her rib cage, like it was trying to escape her chest, and her eyes darted around her prison hoping desperately to see some way out. What she saw was a pile of clothes lying just outside the bars and - not even thinking to question why they would be there - she reached out and grabbed them, hurriedly pulling on the pants and wriggling into the top before her kidnapper appeared.

The footsteps grew louder - and then a man appeared at the bars. He was tall, hulking - and had an overhanging cro-magnon forehead. He looked strong and powerful, and seriously maladjusted. He looked like a man who had spent far too long alone with his own dark and disturbing thoughts. A man who had failed to make meaningful connections - and so now had resorted to kidnapping women and locking them up. The maladjust unlocked the cage and stepped inside towards her. Nina backed away as far as she could, into the corner. 'What … who are you?'

'It's OK,' he said to her - the crazy son of a bitch was keeping his voice soft and soothing - like she was a frightened horse he was trying to settle, not a kidnapped woman. 'My name's Angel,' he told her, 'you're safe now.'

'Safe? Oh - well - great - that's…' He was even more psycho than she'd thought. She had assumed they were both on the same page regarding their kidnapper/victim status - but now it turned out that Hannibal Lecter thought keeping her naked in a cage was somehow preventing her from coming to any harm. She tried to bolt - run straight past him and out the door whilst it was still open. But he was too massive and hulking - she couldn't get past his ridiculous Linebacker shoulders - and he grabbed hold of her by both her arms, holding her in place.

'Get off me!' she cried - and then threw all caution to the wind and raised her voice, 'Help me, somebody!' she yelled as loud as she could.

'That's what I'm trying to do, Nina - help you.'

She pulled herself out of his grasp. 'How do you know my name? What do you want with me?'

'I just want you to see something,' the hulking psychopath said.

...

What had come next had been even more confusing than waking up in a cell without any memory of getting there. He had led her out of his own private containment facility and into an elevator. They went up several floors, and then bell rung and the doors slid open. The hulking psychopath had frowned when he had seen the corridor outside - but then he had turned around and his caveman brow had lifted an inch or so, 'here we are,' he said - and led her out the doors at the back of the elevator.

She stared around - they were in a lobby of some kind of business, a high end - Fortune 500 type of place by the look of it. 'What is this?' she asked.

'Wolfram and Hart - my company. It's a law firm.'

'A law firm with its own dungeon?'

'...yeah.'

'You're a lawyer?'

'No... I help … the hopeless, actually.' He sounded kind of awkward as he said it. She stared at him - this loony bird was hopping higher up the branches of the crazy tree every minute.

They walked past the front desk, Nina glanced at the blonde woman sat behind it - wondering if she could ask her for help. 'Harmony, hold my calls,' the psycho said.

'Sure thing, bossy,' the woman said - and Nina felt her heart plummet. Maybe everyone here was crazy.

She was taken into a large office, the psycho closed the door and then ushered her into the chair behind the desk. Filled with trepidation - and wondering what was coming next, she sat down. There were photographs on the desk - of a baby. And of the maladjust holding the baby. 'Did you kidnap the kid as well?' she asked him.

'What?' he looked confused and she nodded at the photos. 'Oh - no. No! That's my son - Connor - he's in company daycare right now, he loves it.' He shook his head, 'and I didn't kidnap you either, Nina, I need you to watch this.'

He opened up a laptop - and clicked the mouse. They were now watching a video from a camera feed. It showed the inside of a cell - like the one Nina had woken up in - but in this one there was some kind of … monster. Hairy - like a nightmarish dog on two legs - and it growled and snapped and fought with itself, hurling itself against the bars. 'I don't understand,' Nina frowned, 'what am I supposed to be looking at? God - what is that?'

The psycho looked uncomfortable. 'You don't remember?'

'Remember?'

'2 nights ago,' he told her, 'you were attacked ... in the woods … you were jogging.'

She wrinkled her brow - and flashes of memory came back to her. She remembered the fear - and the pain as she was pinned to the ground and bit. Getting home had been a blur, she had collapsed in her bed and slept for most of the next day - and when she woke up her memories had been hazy and jumbled … and everything had been too loud and too bright. 'Jogging,' she said slowly - and then looked back at the screen - and recognised the monster, ' wait, yeah, I remember - that thing attacked me.'

'Not exactly.' She stared up at the maladjust, he was looking … regretful. 'I was in the area,' he said to her, 'I heard screams - but by the time I got there...'

'That was you.' She remembered the weight of the monster suddenly being hauled from her and the brief glimpse of a large man in a dark coat smacking it away. That had been the psycho? He wasn't crazy … he really did help the hopeless? 'I remember you - you saved me.'

But he shook his head. 'I was too late.'

She felt her heart stop and her stomach turn to lead. She didn't understand. That thing would have killed her, she had nearly died - and he had stopped it. But now he told her he had never saved her. What was he saying? But he was just staring at the screen - at the monster in the cage - that heavy, neanderthal brow furrowed and troubled and - frightened as to what she was about to see - Nina followed his gaze and turned back to watch the screen.

The monster suddenly began to shudder and shake - it collapsed to the floor - twitching - and then the bones reshaped, the fur shrank back from its skin - and what was left lying on the floor was … Nina. Naked and alone and in the cell, just as she had woken up.

'It was a werewolf, Nina,' the man said, 'and you were bitten.'

'No.' She shook her head and got to her feet - pushing the chair away from herself, she began to pace the office. 'This is insane.' She pushed her hair away from her face and stared at him in disbelieving frustration.

'The bite already started a process. You may have already started to feel the effects. Distorted vision. Heightened senses.'

She remembered that everything had been too bright - and the too clear sound of distant laughter. And the overpowering buzzing from the insect in the window. And the overwhelming, tantalising smell of ... 'blood,' she gasped. 'Jill my sister, she was cooking meat. I -I smelled the blood - it was making me …' she remembered that ravenous hunger. And then she remembered the red claw marks across Amanda's throat. 'Oh God - Amanda - my niece.'

'She's OK - and so is your sister. Everything's fine.'

'It's not.'

'Nina, you didn't -'

'I wanted to rip her throat out!' Nina yelled, suddenly realising what that feeling had been. She walked over to the window and stared out. The sun was shining, down in the city it was a perfectly normal day. People were going about their perfectly normal lives. But she was trapped up here with a well meaning psychopath, realising that she was a monster and no one would ever be safe around her.

'It wasn't you - it was the thing inside.'

'Like there's a difference,' she said impatiently.

He looked troubled. 'There is. A big one - I know this is a lot to take -'

'Don't tell me you know,' she snapped. 'You didn't wake up and find out you're a … monster. You don't know anything.'

'I'm not a werewolf like you,' he told her. 'But I do know what it's like. I - I'm a monster too.'

She looked him up and down - taking his massive hulking shoulders and overhanging forehead and the way he was slowly lumbering towards her. 'So what, you're like a Frankenstein?' she guessed.

'What? No!' he sounded offended. 'Vampire - I'm a vampire.'

'Vampire,' she repeated, disbelievingly. She sank down on the sofa. This was the craziest morning she'd ever had - she was a werewolf having a conversation with a real life vampire. 'But vampires kill people,' she said to him, 'and they-'

'Can control themselves,' he interrupted her, 'and so can you.'

She looked up at him, a hint of a plea in her expression. 'Can you cure me?' she asked hopefully. But he shook his head. 'No,' he said, 'but I can keep you safe.'

* * *

The office was still too quiet and still, without Cordelia. The sun shone in through the windows again, and Doyle was once more watching the dust motes dance in the light. He was procrastinating. He had his feet up on the desk and a cup of coffee in his hand. He needed to make that phone call - but now he was faced with the task, he didn't want to.

He'd never had to break the news of a death to a family before. Sure, since he had become a demon, he had seen more death, destruction and mayhem than he could remember. Caused some of it himself, cleared some of it up - but he'd never had to be the one to go back to the family and tell them a loved one was not coming home.

He'd taken the photocopy of the picture of Xandra and her friend down from the crime-board and held it in his hand - looking at the dead girl's face. It was cowardly of him, but he really hoped it was a clan elder that he spoke to - someone who would know Xandra's backstory, but not be heartbroken by the news. And then they would go and tell her parents, and Doyle would be off the hook.

But Cordelia was right - he needed to know exactly what he was going to say, exactly how he was going to break the news and how he was going to follow that up with questions, without sounding like a tactless, doltish idiot. He began to frame some tentative sentences in his mind, his lips moved as he practised - without him even realising. The police must do this sort of stuff all the time - but he didn't know how - this was hard. He wished he could ring Kate and ask her how it was done… but poor Kate had been killed during the last apocalypse. At least she hadn't died by his hand - other people had, but at least not her. It had been Kali that held the knife that killed Kate - though it had all been Jasmine really.

He frowned even deeper as he thought about Kali - his brow furrowing. She had been left in a coma after Jasmine was born and Doyle supposed she hadn't yet woken up, he wasn't sure she ever would. But Groo had taken her back to her people - and Doyle wondered what the undefeated champion had told them, how he had explained how Kalimania came to be trapped in a sleep from which she would never wake.

It was so much harder when the demons were people. So many demons were just monsters - and Doyle and Cordy would kill them without a second thought - all squish and blood and gore. But some demons, like Kali, like Xandra - like himself - were people too, and they had people who loved them. And when they died, it was no different to a human loss - and it needed to be treated with the same gravity, the same respect.

He was in over his head. He wasn't the right guy to do this. Who was he? An ex car thief, recovering alcoholic with migraines and a bigger destiny than he could handle. He wasn't the sort of person you would want to break the worst news you would ever hear to you. You would want someone with more gravitas - a more serious face and voice, darker clothes … someone taller. Angel. That was who was needed now. Angel was exactly the right person to break bad news with just that right balance of sincerity, grief and compassion.

But Angel wasn't here - and Doyle was all there was. He was his own boss, now - in charge of the business. The hard tasks fell to him. And - as ill equipped to do this job as he was - he was still way, way more qualified to do this than Cordy.

She had got a lot softer in the years he had known her, her sharp edges had rubbed away - she could be patient and sympathetic - Lord knows she was endlessly patient and sympathetic with him. But occasionally - and right when it was the worst possible time - the old Cordelia would rear her inappropriate head and say something blunt to the point of rudeness. Tact was just not saying true stuff - and sometimes she still found it too hard not to pass. This was too important a task to risk a blunder from the Queen of tough love. It would definitely have to be him.

'Hi - I'm Francis Doyle,' he muttered under his breath, still practising. 'I got this number from Arnie, the skalof demon. Am I speakin' to a member of the Goyra clan? … maybe I shouldn't start with 'Hi'?' he worried.

* * *

Angel left Nina in his office and walked out into the lobby, where he found Fred and Dr. Royce, the cryptozoologist, waiting. Spike was there as well - but he chose to ignore him and concentrated on the two people who could actually help. Nina had agreed to stay in the holding cell for the final night of the full moon - but she was pretty scared, and he was wondering what they should do for her now.

'These first few transformations are the worst,' Dr. Royce told the group. 'Werewolf's strength combined with the disorientation and fear.'

Fred looked troubled, 'you mean she might hurt herself?'

The doctor nodded - he'd seen it all, in his time, seen them bang their heads against walls - claw at their skin. Separated from any victims - a caged werewolf would take out its ferocity on itself, especially in the early days.

'We'll just have to tranq her,' Angel shrugged, 'let her sleep through it.' But the doctor poured cold water on that idea. That might prevent her from coming to harm tonight - but they couldn't tranq her every full moon. She was going to have to experience the full effects of a transformation sooner or later - and it was better that it was sooner, get the worst out of the way. Instead, he suggested, they could try and find a more natural way to soothe her. Werewolves liked to be surrounded by familiar scents and images, he told them, maybe if they took her home, let her get a few things - they might have a calming effect.

But Spike snorted with impatient derision. 'Fetching her blanky's not going to make a bloody bit of difference,' he scoffed. 'The girl's a killer. Maybe not tonight or tomorrow - but she will get out of that cage.'

'Not if she doesn't want to,' Angel replied through gritted teeth. But that made the doctor chuckle, 'oh, she'll want to,' he said. 'It's unfortunate, but…' he shook his head and trailed off. And then Spike had something more to add - of course he did - did he ever shut up yammering for two minutes? 'And when it's not that time of the month - she'll be wracked with the guilties - what with having a soul and all.'

It was Angel's turn to scoff. 'Didn't seem to bother you.'

'Oh it's been nothing but a pain in my -' he winked out of existence, and Angel sighed with relief. 'Finally. I'll take Nina by her house.'

Fred was frowning at the spot where Spike had vanished, but she frowned even deeper when she heard Angel's words. 'Angel - it's the middle of the day - unless you plan on waiting in the car...'

He sighed - realising she was right. 'Take security. In case she changes her mind.'

* * *

Cordelia put her hand on her hip and posed for the camera. Today they were doing the photoshoot for the billboards that would go up in every major city across America - possibly the world - and the photographer had been snapping her for hours. 'Look off into the distance now, Cordy,' he called to her, 'now, head down - little bit to the left - eyes across the room. Look mysterious.'

She followed his instructions, tilting her head and staring out past the edge of the set across the space beyond. Now she was looking directly at the vampire company execs - and the one with horns. She didn't get it - couldn't everyone else see the horns - what did Fabio think? She glanced at her half naked, muscular companion - but he didn't seem to be paying any attention. What was the deal here? She could understand that maybe the makeup girls and photographers and lighting guys didn't recognise a vampire when they saw one - not everyone had the benefit of a Sunnydale education - but why was no one freaking out about the dude with horns? What was she missing? She narrowed her eyes.

'That's perfect, Cordy - don't smile, keep your lips still - and make your eyes smoulder. Great. This all looks great.'

As she tried to introduce 'smoulder' into her eyes, she watched the vampires very carefully. They weren't doing anything _evil_, as such. Not right now - but she was reminded of that investment guy, Russell Winters - who'd tried to snack on her before she'd been rescued by Angel. He'd worn a suit, lived in a mansion and been a big player in the L.A business world. But Angel had kicked him out a window. These guys might look on the level - but they were still shady as hell, still probably killing poor innocent girls on a daily basis - just not down seedy, dark alleyways like most of the undead. They were evil - and Cordelia had a sacred duty to do.

She had a stake and a cross stashed in her purse and - as soon as she was done posing with Fabio, she would be on their trail and they would be dust - and whatever the horn guy would turn into. But for now she was trapped, twisting and contorting herself into ever more ridiculous shapes in order to get the right shot for the ads.

As she stuck her chest out and raised the bottle of perfume to rest against her cheek, she suddenly wondered if 'Unleashed' would take out an ad in Vogue. Her face might be in Vogue! That would be more than she could ever have drea… dammit! The vampires had wandered off whilst she was posing, she hadn't seen where they'd got to. She was going to have to hunt them down before she could kill them, now. She hoped the photos weren't going to take too much longer.

* * *

Fred and Nina sat in the back of a Wolfram and Hart security van, suited guards sat with them, wearing wires - guns in their holsters. They weren't doing a whole lot to make Nina feel more secure though. Fred assured her she wasn't a prisoner - that wasn't it at all - but the heat the guards were packing was not really backing up that claim.

'I should be in ceramics class right now,' Nina told Fred, 'we're learning raku…' she sighed, 'feels like somebody else's life.'

'It's just three nights a month, Nina - not even days - your life doesn't have to change ... much.'

Nina was about to point out that Fred couldn't possibly know anything about this … before remembering that the Frankenstein guy - Angel - had turned out to be a vampire, last time she'd accused someone of not understanding. 'Are you a monster too?' she asked suspiciously.

But Fred shook her head - nope, she was just a standard issue science nerd. 'I did spend five years in a demon dimension, though - until Angel saved me.'

He'd rescued Nina in a park from a werewolf - sort of - and saved this girl from untold demons. He has said he helped the hopeless - maybe he really did. 'I guess he saves a lot of girls, huh?' she asked, casually.

'Girls, guys, puppies - he's pretty much an equal opportunities saver.'

'So …' she made her voice even more casual. 'You two are like a couple?'

Fred looked startled. 'What? Me and Angel? Oh God no! He was… seeing someone … sort of. It all fell apart.'

'The mother of his baby?'

'Darla?' Fred laughed out loud. 'No - no - well, yeah - in the sense of 150 years of violence, bloodshed and mayhem wreaked across the entire known world. But recently? Not so much. Angel has a soul, Darla very much didn't. Then she died giving birth to Connor. He's been a single dad since Connor was born.'

'But you said he was seeing someone?'

'Sorta … last year was extremely complicated. And then she chose to go back to her old boyfriend instead. I guess she decided they were a better match. Angel hasn't had a whole lot of luck when it comes to women. He doesn't date much - 'cause of his circumstances.'

'Because he's a vampire? Or because he's a single dad?' Nina asked.

Fred scrunched her face up. 'Both? Neither? It's complicated.'

'Sounds lonely.'

'Sometimes, maybe,' Fred half agreed. 'But it's not like he doesn't have anyone. He's got Connor. And we all try to be there for each other.'

'Like a family.'

'Yeah - a demon fighting, hopeless helping, dysfunctional family. There used to be more of us - but now it's just the five of us, and Connor. The rest are off doing their own thing, we don't really see 'em anymore. But you know - we're all coping. Adjusting...'

* * *

Angel sat in Gunn's office, brooding, whilst the attorney sat behind his desk and filled out paperwork. There was a lot on Angel's mind - killing that guy, failing to save Nina and condemning her to a lifetime of being a monster, using Wolfram and Hart facilities to protect her and keep her safe. She was a good person - a decent ordinary person - exactly the kind of person who should stay a million miles away from a place like the evil law firm. But now she needed what they offered. This was more shades of grey, big picture stuff - and he didn't care for it. If he wasn't careful, didn't do everything in his power to protect her - then Wolfram and Hart would corrupt Nina the way it was trying to corrupt him. And he'd had to bring her here because he'd failed to save her - and because this was where he belonged, now.

Could they have kept her safe in the Hyperion? Maybe … Oz had been safe transforming in the library cage for over a year. They had a cage in the basement - the one that had held Angelus. If Angel hadn't signed that agreement, hadn't signed his own life away, then Nina would transform safely down in the Hyperion basement - and she wouldn't ever come into the orbit of Evil Incorporated. But now she was beholden to them. It wasn't just his life he'd signed away - he realised, but his friend's who had followed him here and everyone he saved using their resources. Sure, they were letting him fight the good fight, but in doing so they were just increasing the debt he owed them - and taking payment from the hopeless he was supposed to help.

'You sign this and we're all set to turn Mcmanus' body over to his family,' Gunn said, finishing with a form - but Angel was too deep into his brooding to listen. 'We've made arrangements to transport his body back to…' Gunn realised just how little attention his boss was paying. '... the North pole. Turns out he had a close, personal relationship with Santa.'

Angel shook his head - trying to blow off the cobwebs. 'What? I'm with you. Turning over the …' he wrinkled his brow, 'Santa?'

'Angel,' Gunn said to him gently, 'you saved that girl's life, if you hadn't got there when you did…'

'You know, not looking for a pep talk right now,' Angel interrupted him, snapping. 'Just go do your job.'

'Right,' Gunn looked uncomfortable. 'I'll go do that somewhere else,' he got up from his seat and walked out of his own office to find someplace else to work. As soon as the door closed behind him, it opened again and Lorne came in. 'whoa - watch it there!' he said to Angel, 'I was just walking by and got splashed with a heap of grouchy.' He perched on the edge of Gunn's desk. 'Got to tell you Angelkins that extra weight does not look good on you.'

Angel glanced down at himself confused - he looked the same as he always did. He was eternal. He never changed. But somehow he'd managed to get fat?

'I'm talking about psychic pounds, pumpkin.' Lorne explained. 'Just consider me the Jenny Craig for the soul. Let's hear it.'

'I'm not gonna sing.'

'Couldn't bear it if you did. No it's talking you need - or maybe a shoulder to -'

'I'm not going to cry either.'

'I was going to a leaning place,' Lorne frowned.

Angel tried to shut him up - this wasn't a good time … but Lorne wasn't taking that as an answer. It was never a good time, lately. Sure Angel had the weight of the world on his shoulders, but that was nothing new. And Spike turning up on their first day in the Wolfram and Hart saddle had taken the jolly right out of the rancher - but the fact was, Angel was fighting so many enemies that his punches were getting sloppy. And the team had the bruises to prove it. 'We're operating in unfriendly territory, here champ,' he said, wisely, 'I don't want you to forget about the people covering your back.'

* * *

The security van drew up outside Nina's house and she and Fred got out of the car and began to walk up the path. 'I can't do this - I change my mind,' Nina said - turning back and heading to the van, but Fred caught her and turned her back round. She knew this wasn't easy - but running away wasn't going to solve the problem.

'How about fleeing? Can I flee?'

'Maybe nobody's home,' Fred suggested, as they pushed the front door open and went inside. The house seemed quiet. But that illusion was shattered by Nina's sister, Jill, suddenly stepping out of the living room into the hallway and yelling at Nina. 'where the hell have you been? I come home and you're just gone. Amanda was terrified. Who leaves the house without their purse and keys? What - did you jump out the window?'

'I - I thought Amanda heard me say I was leaving,' Nina said. She just wanted to cut and run. She couldn't face her sister - not on top of everything else. But Jill wasn't done with her yet. 'Oh right - blame it on a nine year old. You know she didn't want to go to school today? I had to lie and tell her I'd heard from you. I called the police!' she yelled - and then took a deep breath and tried to sound calmer. 'You sleep all day. You've got bruises you don't remember getting. Just tell me - what's going on?'

'I'm sorry about last night - but you can't count on me all the time.'

Jill looked taken aback. 'Since when?'

'Just …' this was a bad idea and it was time to run, 'find another baby sitter,' she turned and ran from the house. Fred looked at Jill awkwardly. 'I'll just take…' she grabbed a photograph of Nina and her family and a stuffed animal, 'she's - she'll be OK,' she said to Jill - and then ran out after Nina.

...

The pair of them headed back to the van. 'So she was yelling and furious,' Fred said comfortingly, 'but that's good - it shows she cares.' They reached the car and found the door was slightly open. 'That's weird,' she said - and pulled the door open to look inside. The security guards were in there - and they had all been killed. 'And really not good! Run!' she squealed.

They both turned away from the van and fled. Fred pulled out her tranq gun - just as a group of masked men poured out of a van across the street. She managed to shoot one, and he went down, but another had grabbed hold of Nina. Fred shot another of the masked men and then elbowed yet another in the face - but then she was grabbed and knocked out. She slumped to the ground and - just as she faded from consciousness - saw Nina being bundled away.

...

One of the masked men took out his cell phone and rang his boss. 'We got the package,' he said.

'Good,' his boss replied. 'Bring it round back - I've just had the floors done.'


	12. Unleashed: Part Three

_Part Three_

They'd wrapped on taking the photographs and Cordelia had headed back to her dressing room. But, instead of changing back into her street clothes and going home - as she assumed Fabio was doing, she simply covered up her costume with the terry cloth white robe they'd given her, draped a cross around her neck and grabbed the stake from her purse. Then she peered round the doorway to check the coast was clear and crept down the corridor.

She scurried along to the next door and pressed her ear against the wood - but this turned out to be Fabio's dressing room - and all she could hear was Gloria Gaynor blasting out of some radio or C.D player and Fabio singing along as he changed. She moved on.

The next door was slightly ajar - and she peeked through the crack to see what was inside. But this was the room where the photographer had kept all their equipment, and he was in there dismantling his lenses and putting them away safely. She moved along, once again. She knew the next door led into hair and makeup, so she left that one alone and headed for the final door on the corridor.

Like the photographer's had been, this doorway was slightly open and, as she crept up and looked inside, she caught a glimpse of the vampire execs. Found them. She stood beside the open door, her back pressed against the wall, her stake gripped tightly in her hand, and craned her neck - peeking inside to try and get the lay of the land, work out where all the vampires were before she just barged in there stakes blazing.

This room was set up like an office, and one of the vampires was sat behind a desk, his feet up on it. He was playing with a letter opener. Another was over by the window - which was blacked out, of course. She couldn't see the horn guy or the other vampire, though - and she assumed they must be standing just the other side of the wall from her.

From here she could make out what they were saying to each other - and she held her breath and listened in.

'Returns are looking like 12%,' she heard the one behind the desk say. 'If we can get the dark forces to align, please the right movers and shakers of the underworld, grease their palms - assuming they have palms - we might be able to push it up to 15 - maybe 20%.'

'That's assuming she's good for it.' Cordelia couldn't see the one who was speaking now. 'We're taking a big risk on the unknown.'

But the guy behind the desk just shrugged. 'Green guy says she's good for it. A pure soul. Exactly what they're looking for down in the lower realms. She'll give us everything we need - and she won't even know it.'

The men inside the room began to laugh - dark and unpleasant - and Cordelia gripped her stake tighter. They were talking about money - she knew enough about business to recognise that - and from the sound of it they were trading with the lower realms. That was probably how they got all their wealth and power in the first place. The dark side was always financially more secure than the good guys - look at the way the rest of the team were now living it up with sports cars and helicopters now they'd gone to Wolfram and Hart; whilst her and Doyle were still scraping behind the couch cushions trying to make this month's rent. She didn't know if the 'Unleashed' fragrance line was just a front for their shady activity or if it was a real business with backers from hell - but either way, these guys were toast. She could only hope that once she'd toasted them - she still had a job as the face of the perfume. That the whole company didn't crumble like a pyramid scheme under investigation from the Feds. The money for this job was _really_ good - and she wanted more!

She leaned her head closer to the crack in the door - and listened some more...

* * *

Nina was dragged from the back of the van and bundled in through the back doors of a very grand looking house and dragged down to the basement. She struggled and fought the whole way but the guy's holding her were too strong. She was pulled inside a dark room and then two men began to chain her wrists, using shackles dangling from the ceiling. 'No! Let me go!' she cried, as she twisted and struggled in her chains, 'What are you doing, let me go - you have to let me go! Please!'

But they didn't listen to her. Once she was secured and could not get free, they stepped back and a third man turned a hose on her, spraying her with a great gush of cold water. She choked and sputtered, and stumbled back a little under the force, but was held in place by her chains.

Then, she watched warily as a woman stepped up towards her. The woman took out a pair of scissors and began to cut Nina's top away from her body. Nina began to cry as she was left chained and exposed in front of these strange men. Then the woman took a rough sponge and began to scrub down Nina's skin. Nina's whole body shook, as she sobbed with distress and fear.

* * *

Since Fred had got back to Wolfram and Hart and told the team what had happened - how Nina had been kidnapped - they had gone into overdrive trying to sort it. Lorne had pulled in everyone at the company who had known about Nina and was listening to them sing. So far he'd heard the entire security team, the lab staff and half of Wesley's department. If anyone inside the firm was responsible - he would find them. Currently he was listening to Dr. Royce, the cryptozoologist, warble away.

'_And she's loving him with that body, I just know it. And he's holding her in his arms late, late at night…'_

His aura was clear, Lorne glanced through the big window that separated the conference room from Angel's office and gave them the thumbs up.

...

Inside the office the rest of the team were trying to work the problem their own way. 'The scary thing was how organised they were,' Fred told the men, she held an ice-pack against her head where she had been knocked out. 'Almost military.'

'An underground military organisation that hunts monsters,' Wesley frowned, thoughtfully, 'it's happened before.'

'It's all my fault. I'm stupid,' Fred said bitterly.

But Angel shook his head - half at her words and half trying to get the song Royce was singing out of his head. Those lyrics could have been _written_ by him - about Cordy and Doyle and how he, Angel, felt about that. But that wasn't the point, here - not what mattered. Finding Nina and keeping her safe was the mission today, that's where he needed to focus. 'Anything happens to Nina, it's on me,' he assured Fred.

She wasn't convinced though. 'That's weird. Why don't I just approach the mysteriously ajar door?' she said sarcastically.

Gunn gave her a comforting look. 'Enough with the mocking - we get that enough from Blondie Bear.'

That made Fred suddenly remember - he'd winked out of existence before she left with Nina. And he said his absences were getting longer - that he was being trapped in hell for longer. She looked around at the others, concerned. 'Spike - has anyone seen him since…'

'He went poof? No.'

She got to her feet, 'but it's been hours, Angel…' But she was cut off from what she had to say by Dr. Royce entering the room and Angel demanding to know what he knew. It seemed that the rest of the team were far too concerned with finding Nina to worry about finding Spike. Of course they were - they were all sure he'd come right back. They didn't know what was happening to him, where he was going … or that something was trying to keep him there.

Royce had a whole list of suspects for Angel: sacrificers, wackos who wanted to rid the world of abominations, werewolf packs looking for recruits, paranormal sporting groups - the type that went vampire hunting in Eastern Europe - that sort of thing. They would have to work their way through the list - could take hours.

Fred wasn't listening to him, though - she'd just spotted Spike walking through the lobby. He didn't look right, though - he was … transparent. She glanced at the others. 'I'll be…' she ran out of the office and chased after the incorporeal vampire. 'Spike! Wait! Spike!' He didn't seem to hear her, or pay her any mind, however - as he continued walking away without turning around. She chased him through the lobby.

...

He led her down the hallway - and then through the door of an office. 'Spike, stop! Spike?' But he kept on walking through the office, past the desk and then right through the opposite wall.

'Spike! Wait!' she had scurried through the office, hoping to catch him, but then had to pull up short, as she reached the wall - and could follow him no further. She stumbled to a halt and kicked the trashcan over, as she did. 'Dammit!' debris scattered across the floor and - still glancing in irritation at the wall - she got onto her knees and began to pick up the fallen litter. 'Oh right,' she muttered, 'like he can't hear me. Just whoot! Right through the -' she stopped talking and began to frown, looking at the discarded item in her hand. It was a small glass bottle which had fallen from the trash, she read the label and frowned even deeper.

'Were you looking for me?'

She looked up in alarm as she heard a voice in the doorway, and hastily shoved the bottle in her pocket. It was Dr. Royce. 'Oh is this your office?' she asked, getting back to her feet. 'I'm so sorry. I was following Spike and I kinda made a mess. He went right through the wall.'

Dr. Royce turned to stare at the wall Spike had vanished through, and Fred shifted a little - backing away. 'It's just so annoying when he does that,' she carried on talking. His back was still turned and she picked up a lamp. 'Because there's nothing you can do to...' She swung the lamp at the back of his head, and Royce collapsed unconscious on the floor, '... stop him.'

* * *

Doyle still held the photograph of Xandra in his hand, was still staring at her laughing face. He needed to do this - get it over with. He took his feet down from the desk, planted them firmly on the floor and sat up a little straighter in his chair. He swigged down the last of his coffee, put the paper copy of the photo down and then pulled the scrap of paper with the phone number written on towards himself. He rolled his shoulders as if he were warming up his muscles to run a race - he needed to do this. Get it over with. Xandra deserved to have every lead followed in the hunt for her murderer - and she deserved to have her people know what had happened to her. And her folks deserved to know what had become of their daughter. He needed to do this.

He stared at the phone - willing himself to pick it up. He counted to three - and then to five. Once he'd reached ten, he grabbed the receiver, holding it in his left hand, and used his right index finger to hurriedly jab the numbers on the keypad, as if trying to get it done quickly before he could change his mind - chicken out. Then he transferred the phone to his right hand, put it to his ear and took a deep breath. He could hear it ringing down the other end of the line, and he closed his eyes - trying to imagine where the phone he was connecting to was. In a little room, somewhere in Ohio. And he tried to imagine who it was who would hear the ringing - who would enter the room and pick up the phone. He prayed it wouldn't be Xandra's mother.

He could feel his heart hammering in his chest as he waited - which was strange as it also felt like it had leapt into his throat, his breath was ragged and shallow. He both wanted someone to pick up soon - and desperately hoped that nobody did. He wanted this over - but he didn't want to have to do it.

The phone continued to ring - maybe there was no one there. Maybe he should give up. Just for now. He would try again later. Of course he would. This needed to be done. Just not right ... But just as he was about to hang up, he heard the ringing suddenly cut away, the hum of air down the line and then a gruff voice say 'hello?'

His eyes flew open. 'Oh - uhm - yeah, hey - hello,' he stuttered. 'My name is Francis Doyle, I'm callin' from L.A, I got this number off Arnie the skalof demon. Am I, by any chance, speakin' to a member of the Goyra clan?'

'What's it to ya?' the gruff voice asked. Doyle swallowed, 'uhm, well - I have ...I'm afraid I've got some bad news and … well, I guess I need to deliver it to the right people.'

'What bad news?' The gruff voice suddenly had a wary tone to it.

'Did you - uh - did you know a girl called Xandra?'

'Xandra? - yeah - she's Alix and Herb's girl, moved to L.A a few months back.' The voice suddenly became suspicious. 'Isn't that where you said you were?'

'Yeah, yes I did, sir. I'm afraid to tell y' that Xandra … well, I'm sorry to say - she's - uh - she's dead. She was killed - couple o' weeks ago now. Murdered.' There was a long silence at the other end of the phone - but Doyle knew the demon was still on the line, he could still hear him breathing. 'Sir?' he said.

'Right - uh - yeah,' the gruff voice answered. It was shaky, now - and Doyle could tell that the demon was unsure what to say, that they might be wiping away tears. 'You know what killed her?'

'Not yet. Me and my girlfriend - she's a vampire slayer - we're workin' on it, lookin' into it. And…' he took a deep breath and hoped that this next sentence didn't come out as insensitive or obnoxious or crass, 'I was hopin' - well I was hopin' you might be able to tell me a little about Xandra. Help eliminate some possibilities. So far we've not been able to find much out about her.'

'Your girlfriend's a slayer?' the voice asked, 'and you don't think she did this? What the hell does a pair of humans care about some dead Goyra? What's another demon body to a slayer?'

'We care,' Doyle said quietly. 'This is what we do. We help the hopeless, stop the bad guys. Cordy doesn't kill demons indiscriminately. We know that demons are people - and that a whole load of 'em are just trying to get on with their lives, quiet like.'

'Oh, you do, do you? - and who exactly the hell are you, son? Some boy toy of a slayer, sticking his nose in where it's not needed. This is demon business. We don't want or need human interference in our lives … or our deaths.'

Doyle closed his eyes again, and leaned back in his chair, 'I'm not human,' he admitted. His voice was heavy. 'I'm a brachen demon - half - on my father's side. I work for The Powers That Be - and Xandra's not the only demon that's turned up killed, recently. Look - I just wanna find out what killed Xandra and put a stop to it, before it hurts anyone else - and I want to be able to tell her parents that the guy who murdered their daughter is toast. But to do that, I need to know everythin' I can about Xandra. And no one in L.A seems to know squat about her. So if there's anythin' you can think of that might help, I'll be grateful to hear it.'

There was another long silence down the phone and the sound of a throat being cleared, 'well, what is it that you need to know?'

'You know - background stuff - when she came here, why she came here. Who her friends were - if she had any. Did she have a boyfriend? Did she ever mention anyone was giving her trouble? Did she owe money? Even if anyone noticed a change in behaviour from her - maybe if she stopped callin' as often, or seemed scared. Anythin' like that.'

'I'll have to speak to her parents,' the demon said, 'is there a number I can call you back on?'

'Yeah, sure - thanks,' Doyle gave the demon his phone number, clarifying some of the digits and listening as the Goyra wrote it down - all the way in Ohio.

'Before you go,' the Goyra said to him, 'how did Xandra die? Alix and Herb will want to know.'

Doyle wrinkled his brow, 'aw, man - it wasn't pretty. Listen, you should try and gloss over that particular question. She was … just tell them she was stabbed - and there was a head wound. My girlfriend's good with medical stuff, she reckons the head wound killed her.'

'And - uhm - what happened to - to her body?'

'We buried it - I mean her,' Doyle assured him, 'we buried her. In a real nice spot, we looked up your rituals and painted the symbols on her shroud and spread the herbs around. Did it as well as we could. I can give you the address if you want - if her parents want to visit…' and he described the location of Xandra's grave, up in the Hollywood Hills.

'Thank you - that is … I've never heard of a human - let alone a slayer - going to so much trouble for one demon.'

'Well - Xandra matters to us. She's important. All of the people we help are - even if we can't save them.'

'Thank you,' the voice said, sounding even more gruff - as if it was trying to swallow down some painful emotion. 'Her burial - it will be a great comfort to her parents that she received a proper burial. I'll get back to you with the information you've asked for as soon as I've spoken to them.'

'Thanks,' Doyle said, softly. 'I'm sorry for your loss.' And he hung up the phone and gave a deep sigh of relief. At least that was over. He picked up the photo of Xandra, once more, and looked at her laughing face. 'We will get 'em, love,' he said to her, 'just you wait, we'll get 'em - and we'll make 'em pay.'

* * *

Fred had called the guys - Angel had hauled the unconscious Royce off and she, along with Wes and Gunn, were now rifling through the cryptozoologist's office, looking for clues. The bottle Fred had found had contained Calendula, she'd recognised it at once and Wes had confirmed it. It was like a mystical Valium - Royce must have known he'd be made to sing for Lorne and so had taken the substance in order to block the reading.

'How'd you end up going through Royce's trash anyway?' Gunn asked her, as he looked through the desk drawers. He knocked on the bottom of the drawer and frowned at the sound. It echoed.

'It was Spike. He led me in here.'

But Gunn was now more interested in what he'd just found - 'Yo! Here we go - we got ourselves a secret panel.' He removed the false bottom from the drawer and then began to pull out the things he found underneath. There were some Polaroid photographs, a knife, and some papers - which he passed around to the others - and the three of them began to scrutinise.

* * *

Royce was now awake - and wishing he wasn't. 'Where is she?' Angel snarled - as he threw the doctor against the wall. He used his full strength and Royce slammed against it and felt his bones crunch, and all the air leave his body. But even so, he wasn't going to talk. 'I don't know what you're …'

'Wrong answer.' Angel grabbed the doctor, yanking him across the room and then slamming him down on the desk - pinning him there.

Royce stared up at the angry vampire and began to gibber, 'But it's a secret!' he squealed. 'If I tell you - this man - he's not like you. You're a good guy, but he's a … well, no offence - but he's scarier than you!'

Angel vamped out - he leaned in as close to Royce's face as he could - letting him see the sharpness of his fangs and the yellow of his eyes. 'Wanna bet?'

* * *

Fred flicked through the Polaroid photographs, her head tilted and her face frowning as she tried to work out what she was looking at. Realisation hit - and her eyes widened in alarm. 'Are they …? Ewww!' she dropped the photos to the floor and looked disgusted. 'We'll just … yeah, burning. Burning would be good for these.'

Wesley was examining the knife - it was sharp, like a steak knife - but had a jewel in its hilt, like it was some fancy ceremonial dagger. 'Not exactly an autopsy knife,' he said, wryly.

Gunn was reading through the papers he had found. There was a deep crease in his forehead, which was only getting deeper the more he read. 'You're not gonna believe this,' he said to the others - holding out what he had found for them to look at.

* * *

Cordelia was still pressed against the wall, her stake clutched tight against her chest, waiting for her moment. She was trying to figure out the best way to take them all out at once - it was four against one - and sure, she could do it, but she shouldn't be too hasty. She hadn't been slaying very long, after all. She wanted a decent plan of attack - a strategy. As a slayer, she had to win every fight - whereas a vampire only had to get lucky once for her to become a footnote in history.

As one vampire was wedged in behind the desk, and she couldn't see the final vampire or the guy with horns, she figured the one by the window would be the best place to start. Unfortunately that meant she had to cross the entire office to kill him - without the others attacking her. She could just throw her stake straight at his heart - but then she wouldn't have a weapon. Maybe if she kicked in the door - did a backflip and then a super-jump across the room whilst the demons were all too shocked to respond - staked the vampire by the window and then turned to face the other three. The one behind the desk would have to come out from behind the desk, and if she stood her ground and let them come to her then she could take them out one on one - set them up, knock them down.

She wished, for a moment, that she had taken Doyle up on that offer of help. If he could take out just one of them for her - or at the very least offer a distraction by allowing himself to get pummelled - then the odds would be more in her favour. But she shook her head and refused to follow up this line of thinking. She was a _slayer_. She didn't need Doyle - well, she needed him, for more reasons than she could count - but not for staking three vamps and the horn job. She could go one on one with a vampire before she had any kind of powers at all. Angel had trained her well - and she had taken on this slayer gig from a position of being much better prepared and with far greater experience and knowledge than most slayers did. Four little eentsy demons were nothing to her now she was a bona fide superhero. _Buffy _would not take her boyfriend along for four eentsy demons. And Buffy had not spent her pre slayer life being trained by the dark avenger himself.

Cordelia had this - she totally had it. She took a deep breath - ready to kick the door in - and then realised that, whilst she'd been busy strategising, the room had gone quiet. She risked a peek inside. The vampire had risen from behind the desk - and was looking in her direction. With a gasp, she flung herself back and pressed herself harder against the wall, shrinking back. But it was too late. The door creaked open - and the final vampire and the guy with the horns appeared in the corridor and grabbed hold of her. 'You were right, boss,' the vampire said to the one behind the desk, dragging Cordy into the office. 'Lookee lookee what we found, out in the hall.'

* * *

Fred had hold of the piece of paper and she was marching through the lobby, Wes and Gunn hot on her heels. They reached Angel's office just as he came out of the door, rolling his sleeves down. 'I know where she is,' he told them.

'Angel, we found -' she thrust the paper into his hand. 'It's what they plan to do to her.'

He stared down at the paper and then up at his friends, disbelieving. '...It's a menu.'

* * *

Nina was strapped to a silver trolley, naked, gagged and covered by a sheet. She was surrounded by kale, peppers and carrots. The trolley was pushed through some doors and she blinked in the sudden light, after so long in the dark. Classical music was playing quietly in the background - and the room was crowded with elegant, black tie clad guests.

'Ladies and gentlemen,' the host of the dinner party smiled at the gathered people, 'thank you for coming together on such short notice. We have a very rare and special treat for you tonight. Moonrise is in fifteen minutes. Shortly thereafter … dinner will be served.'


	13. Unleashed: Part Four

_Part Four_

Cordelia was dragged into the office and held in place by the vampire and the guy with horns. They weren't holding her as tightly as they should - and they hadn't noticed the stake still gripped in her hand. They didn't know what she was. They had no idea she could fight back - and she was going to use that to her advantage.

The one behind the desk - the one who seemed to be in charge - peered at her in surprise. 'That's the model,' he said to the others. 'The girl from the photoshoot. What was _she_ doing out there?'

'Hey - get off,' Cordelia wriggled under their grip and pretended to be an innocent, injured party - just a normal girl who'd been grabbed and didn't know why.

'She was just stood there - listening,' the horned dude said.

'Yeah?' The vampire came out from behind the desk and walked right up to her, staring into her face. 'Why were you listening?'

'I wasn't … I was just …' she wriggled again.

'Hear anything interesting?'

'What? No .. just business talk - I wasn't listening. I swear.'

The vampire stared into her face for a moment longer - she held her breath - and then he snorted and turned away. 'Let her go,' he said to the others, 'she's just some dumb broad.' He glanced back at her, 'listen sweet cheeks - don't go sticking that pretty nose where it doesn't belong. Next time it could be terminally bad for your health.'

'You just want us to let her go?' the vampire holding her sounded surprised. 'What if she heard…?'

'What do you suggest? We kill her?' his boss snapped, impatiently. 'She's the face of our brand - we've got a lot riding on her. We're looking for a big return… but no one's irreplaceable, sweet cheeks,' he said, speaking to Cordy, now. 'Consider this a warning shot.'

She shook herself loose from the grip of her captors. 'Thanks.' Then she lunged forward, stake raised and drove it straight through the heart of the boss vampire. Before he had even exploded into dust, she'd snapped her elbow back so it connected with the face of the vampire behind her, and she felt him go down. 'Me, I don't do warning shots,' she told them - and swung a left hook at the horned demon.

* * *

The dinner guests stood around, in their elegant clothes, the classical musical tinkling away in the background - waiting for the moon to rise and for the creature tied up on the trolley to transform. 'When I dined on werewolf in Seville, the cocinera used an understated mole sauce to bring out the tanginess of the meat,' their host explained to them. 'But chef Renaud swears serving en neige with a light drizzle of white truffle oil will be quietly surprising.' The guests made appreciative and excited noises of anticipation.

...

There was a knock on the front door and a waiter went to answer it. He peered through the spy hole and saw Dr. Royce standing at the other side. But when the door was opened - Royce was pushed over the threshold and Gunn followed on after him, punching out the waiter as he stepped inside the room. 'I know I'm all up in the law, now, but damn it feels good to get my violence on!' Angel and Wesley followed him into the hall.

'Crane's not gonna like this,' Royce warned.

''You just better hope the girl's alive,' Angel warned him. But Wesley was sure that she would be. 'Once a werewolf dies it reverts back to its human state,' he reminded them. 'She has to be alive through dinner.'

Gunn looked horrified. 'You mean, to eat werewolf, they gotta eat her alive?'

Royce reached the door to the dining room and led them inside. Crane - the host of the party - glanced them over. 'Evan - you brought guests,' he said. His tone was even, his voice not raised - but his severe displeasure was still evident.

'We're just here to pick up a friend,' Angel said to Crane. He picked up a silver dish and used it to knocked the chef out, as Gunn pointed a shotgun at the host of the party. Wesley pointed his at the guests. There was a murmur of disquiet around the gathered guests but Angel paid them no mind and headed straight for where Nina still lay bound and gagged on the trolley. He picked up one of the carrots and stared at it disbelievingly. 'Jeez - they garnished you?' He pulled the gag out from her mouth.

She took a deep breath. 'Just go away,' she said, not turning her head to look at her saviour. 'Let them choke on me,' her voice sounded like it was she who was almost choking - on her misery.

But Angel wasn't going to let that happen. He had grabbed a metal vase from the side and was smashing it down on Nina's shackles, trying to break open her cuffs. 'Listen to me. Tomorrow, you're going to be home...'

She shook her head. 'This is what I am. I can't go back there. Ever. This is better.'

'There's nothing better about ending up in a doggy bag!'

But - as Angel worked to free Nina - and Gunn and Wes held the crowd at bay with their guns, a group of men who worked for Crane had managed to sneak up on them - unnoticed - with weapons of their own. The first the team were aware of being surrounded was the sound of the guns cocking. Wesley glanced over at Angel. 'I'm afraid we've hit a snag,' he said.

* * *

Cordy was grabbed from behind by the vamp who'd been stood near the window. She used his hold on her to support herself whilst she kicked out at the other vamp - her foot hit him squarely in the chest. He flew backwards and she snapped her head back, headbutting the vampire holding her and, as he staggered back, she span around, grabbed hold of his arm and flipped him to the floor.

Before she could finish him off - the horn job came at her, he swung his fist at her but she ducked the blow - and then another, and then smacked him a hard right cross. He flew across the room and smashed into the window, slumping on the ground.

Whilst he was out, she turned on the two vamps. They were both back on their feet and circling her warily - looking for an in - and she altered her stance, putting her weight onto the balls of her feet the way Angel had trained her to do so long ago - and raised her fists in readiness.

The first one came at her, she threw a punch and - sensing the next attack from behind - used the force of her swing to then jab her elbow into the other vampire's face. The first one came back swinging - she ducked and, as she stood back up, plunged her stake through his heart. She pulled it free and turned on the last vampire, hearing the other turn to dust behind her. He ran at her, snarling, and she grabbed hold of him and wrestled him down to the floor - pinning him on the ground. Once he was down, she killed him - like she had the others.

Then there was just the horned demon left. She dropped her stake to the ground. That wouldn't help her against a demon - she was going to have to improvise here. He was still over the other side of the room, pinned up against the blacked out windows and looking a lot less happy now all his vampire cronies were killed. She saw him eyeing the door. He made a lunge towards it - and she followed him, blocking his way. He tried the other side - but she blocked him again.

Trapped, he tried to back away instead. He shoved the desk towards her, hoping to knock her down - but instead, she rolled across it - grabbing the letter opener as she went - and then landed on her feet right in front of him. His eyes widened in fear - and she rammed the letter opener right through his throat and up into his jaw, puncturing his jugular as she went.

* * *

Angel stared around at all the men holding guns. 'We're not leaving without the girl,' he told them.

Crane quirked an eyebrow - unimpressed by the stand the vampire was making. 'I'm willing to let my men die. Can you say the same?'

Gunn levelled his own weapon straight at him, his finger on the trigger. 'I go - I'm taking you with me.'

'It's a risk, what can I say?'

Angel glanced down at the metal vase in his hand - and thought about Crane's question. 'You probably should have told me to drop this,' he answered, and then threw it up into the air before sucker punching Crane right in the face. Crane dropped to the ground - but one of his men fired at Angel, hitting him in the chest - the force of the impact caused him to stagger backwards and fall into one of the guests.

Gunn and Wes took that as their cue to start fighting back and soon fists were flying in every direction, between the three team members, the elegantly dressed guests and the security guys.

Unnoticed in all the commotion, the moon rose outside - and Nina transformed. The wolf ripped itself from its bonds and leapt off the trolley, its jaws closing round the neck of one of the guests and savaging him until he dropped to the ground and bled out.

Gunn pointed his weapon at the werewolf - but then hesitated - not wanting to kill the girl they had come here to save. But in that moment of hesitation, the werewolf dove on top of him and pinned him to the floor, snarling and snapping.

But then - from nowhere - Wesley shot his own gun, hitting the creature with a tranquilliser dart. It went still, collapsing on top of the prone Gunn - and he shoved it off him and breathed a deep sigh of relief, before getting back to his feet. They both then pointed their weapons at the crowd. Angel backed up to stand with them, right above the unconscious and transformed Nina, and looked at Crane. 'This is the part where we take our friend and go,' he said.

'I'm afraid not,' Crane said, his cronies pointing their own guns right back at the team. 'This night might not be salvageable, but my guests have paid a high price.' He glanced down at the man with his throat ripped out, 'some higher than others … And I promised them a werewolf.'

At that exact moment, the werewolf recovered consciousness just long enough to raise its head and snap its jaws. Its teeth clamped around the leg of Dr. Royce, before Wes shot another tranq dart into its hide and it went still once more.

Angel looked from Dr. Royce and then over to Crane. He shrugged, 'and in a month - you will,' he said. Crane smiled and signalled his men, who grabbed hold of Royce and dragged him out of the room - begging and pleading with Crane the whole way.

* * *

Thick, viscous, greyish blue blood began to bubble in the corner of the horned demons mouth - and then dribble down from between his lips. With a great gasp of pain, he collapsed to the floor at Cordelia's feet and went still. She looked down at the body, expectantly. 'Aren't you gonna - you know - go poof?' She asked. He didn't.

'Great - that's just great.' She glanced around the room and then grabbed hold of the desk and shoved it back into position. Then she grabbed the horned demon under the arms and manhandled him over to the desk, stashing him beneath it so he couldn't be seen. 'Let's just hope nobody finds you until after I'm gone,' she said. Then she left the office, switching off the lights and closing the door behind her - and crept back to her changing room to get dressed and go home, before anybody realised the company execs were toast.

* * *

It had been late before Doyle had heard back from the Goyra clan elder - and it would have been even later still over in Ohio. It was dark outside and the street lamps were casting their orangey glow into the office. Doyle listened to the gruff voice tell him everything he'd been able to find out from Xandra's parents - which wasn't much.

Alix and Herb had been devastated, which was to be expected, but they had tried their best to think of everything they knew. Xandra had been happy: she'd liked her job, she'd liked her apartment, she called home every week - and the last time they had spoken to her had been the day before she died.

'Uhuh - and everythin' was still OK?' Doyle asked his Goyra contact, 'she didn't sound upset, she wasn't in trouble?'

'She was fine. She was planning a hiking trip up in the mountains her next day off. She said they were working her hard at the club, but she didn't mind. It kept her busy.'

'Did her parents know if she had a boyfriend - anyone special?'

'There was no one - she hadn't been out there long. Spent most of her time at work. She was just looking for a bit of freedom and independence whilst she was young. She'd have been back … when she wanted to settle down, start a family. They always come back - but they do like to fly the nest once they reach the 175 mark.'

'Right, well - thanks for all the trouble you've gone to,' Doyle said.

'I'm sorry we couldn't be more help.'

'No - just knowin' that this wasn't a personal attack is a help. Means we can stop chasin' leads around particular victims and focus on the bigger picture. Eliminates possibilities. You've been a real help.'

'You just find this son of a bitch that did this to Xandra - and then get your slayer friend to make him pay.'

'I will - thanks again. I really am sorry about your loss.' He hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head to think. He hadn't really expected a lead from all the way down in Ohio. Up in Ohio… whichever direction. It was a long way away. But what he had learned pointed to what Vito had told him. This wasn't personal. This murder, as brutal and awful as it was, hadn't been about Xandra, herself. Something bigger and darker was at work.

He got up to pour himself a coffee, and was just sitting back down at his desk when the phone rang, again. 'Yello?' he said, picking it up. Speak of the devil - it was Vito at the other end. 'Hey Doyle,' the Lubbock demon said, 'thought you might wanna know - they just found Arnie.'

'The Skalof demon?' Doyle frowned. 'What do you mean 'found him'?'

'Dead,' Vito said. 'In pieces.'

Doyle sighed and rubbed his face, 'down an alley?' he guessed.

'Yep.'

'Did it look like it was done with swords, axes?'

'Multiple stab wounds - and then his head was cleaved clean off.'

'So - we got ourselves another one,' Doyle said, heavily. 'Well, man, thanks for lettin' me know. Hey, Vito,' a thought suddenly hit him. 'You know which alley?' He grabbed his notepad and pen as the Lubbock demon gave him the address. 'Right - and what about that other guy demon you told me about?... Thanks.' He made a note of that address, as well. 'Listen, man, you hear of any more you let me know right away, yeah?'

'Sure thing. Doyle - whatever's doing this, it means business. It needs to be stopped.'

'I know, man - we'll stop it. We will.' He hung up the phone and then opened up the bottom desk drawer and pulled out a map of L.A. He spread it across the desk and took a pen and began to mark on all the places where the murders had taken place. He didn't have a location for the first waitress that had gone missing - there was nothing but hearsay to support her being another victim, though Doyle was sure she was. So far they had three definite victims and three locations. It was too early to get a pattern - they needed more to go on. The only way they were going to find this thing was if it killed more people. He sighed, deeply. 'Sometimes I hate this job,' he muttered, shaking his head. Then he picked up the map and went and pinned it on their crime board.

* * *

Fred walked into her office - the men weren't back with Nina yet and she wanted to wait for them and make sure everything had gone OK. She flipped the light switch and then gasped in surprise, as the light flickered on and revealed Spike standing in the corner. He was barely more than a shadow, transparent and faint, it was like he was not really there. She stared at him in alarm. 'Spike, I've been looking for you,' she said. He didn't answer, and she frowned, her voice becoming troubled. 'You were there again, weren't you. Where you go when you're not … here.'

'There. Nowhere. I didn't think I was coming back.'

'But you did.' She laughed, nervously. Her eyes were sad, worried. 'Mostly - and you led me to Dr. Royce's office which was…' she saw his blank stare, '...completely not on purpose was it? But still...' she smiled - a little watery, but tried to make her voice upbeat. 'You're here.'

'One last gasp before eternal fire and brimstone. Let's party.'

'We have to tell Angel,' she said.

'No.'

'But he could do something, talk to The Senior Partners.' This was beyond her - and she needed help. Needed someone with more power to intervene. But Spike wouldn't hear of it. 'I said no,' he said through gritted teeth.

'OK. Then I'm going to help you.' Her voice became louder, firmer and more determined. 'Well - I - I don't know exactly, But I'm gonna find a way to bring you back. Really back. I promise.'

He began to grin. His edges became less blurry, he started to look more solid. Finally he looked just as visible as he always had in the past. 'Well, alright then,' he smirked, 'no need to get so dramatic about it.' She stared at him. He'd played her. The bastard had played her!

* * *

When Cordelia finally arrived home, it was to find her apartment empty and in darkness. She switched the lights on and frowned - Doyle must have stayed at the office. She sank down on the sofa and picked up the phone, as she heard the teakettle start to boil on the stove. 'Thanks Dennis,' she called through to him, 'lemon and ginger please.' Then she dialled.

'Hello?' Doyle's voice sounded nervous, as he answered - like he didn't want to have to speak to anyone - hear what they had to say.

'Hey it's me,' she said, 'why aren't you here?'

'Oh, hey Princess.' Now he sounded relieved. 'Sorry - I rang the Goyra demons today, had to wait around to hear back from them. By the time I was done … it was late. I'm just finishing up.'

'Yeah? Any headway?'

'No … except there's been another murder.'

'Another one?' No wonder he sounded tired - no wonder he had been cautious answering the phone. He was probably afraid of what news it might bring.

'Yeah - I knew this guy, sort of - we'd played poker. It was the guy that got us the contact for Xandra's family. Distant relative.'

'So … is that a link?'

'I dunno,' he sounded dejected. 'I think it might just be a coincidence. We've got nothin' to go on. We need more. But the only way to get more is …'

'For more bodies to show up.'

'Exactly.' There was a moment of quiet as they both considered the horrible catch 22 they were stuck in. 'Hey,' he said after a minute's contemplative silence, 'how did it go with you today?'

'Oh you know, just as we expected. Took some pictures. Killed the bad guys.'

'Yeah? They give you any trouble?'

'Not really,' she shrugged. Her cup of tea came floating in from the kitchen and was placed on the coffee table in front of her. She picked it up with her spare hand and took a sip.

'Anyone see you … y'know … kill 'em?'

'I don't think so.'

'So … you're still the face of 'Unleashed'?'

'Yep,' she smiled, 'still making the big bucks.'

'Well, that's great! Hey, we'll have t' celebrate properly tomorrow. We'll get in some champagne. The good stuff - from a bottle this time.'

'Yeah - are you staying at your place tonight, then?' she stifled a yawn.

'Yeah - it's late. I'll stay here tonight.'

'I'll miss you,' she said to him. 'The bed will be all cold and lonely without you.'

'So … you didn't bring Fabio home to warm it up?'

She threw her head back and laughed. 'No I did not. Besides - I think he might prefer to spend the night warming your bed than mine.'

'Really? I'm in with a chance?' he chuckled, 'what makes you think that?'

'He listens to Gloria Gaynor.'

Doyle whistled. 'Pretty damn conclusive! Y' didn't happen to get his number for me did y'?' They both laughed. 'I'll see y' in the mornin' Princess, yeah?' He said once they were quiet again.

'Uhuh, night Doyle.'

'Night Cordy, love you.'

She hung the phone up and then carried her tea into the bedroom, where she got undressed and then drank it under the covers. She sat right in the middle of the bed, determined she would at least make the most of having it all to herself … but it didn't really work. She still missed Doyle.

* * *

Nina had woken up in the containment facility at Wolfram and Hart again, herself once more. Once she was dressed, Angel had let her out of the cage and now he was driving her home. But the butterflies in her tummy were frantically beating their wings against her insides. She felt sick. After yesterday - the fight with her sister - knowing what she was, now, she just didn't know how she could go back. That life - art school and babysitting Amanda and just being a regular girl, that wasn't the life of a werewolf. She didn't know what her life was supposed to look like now - but she couldn't see how it could ever look normal. How she could pretend to be normal around normal people.

They pulled up outside her house. Jill and Amanda were out on the lawn, Amanda was drawing. Nina watched her. 'She's a really good artist,' she said.

'Well, my refrigerator's always available if she's looking to show.'

She tore her eyes away from her family and looked at him. 'How do you live with it?' she asked, 'knowing that you've … killed people.'

'Nina, they were gonna eat you for dinner.'

She looked back at her family - he was right, that was true. But she'd still ripped a man's throat out. And she'd still wanted to do the same to Amanda, when she'd smelt the blood. This was in her now - always would be - and there was no going back. When just three days ago, her life had been completely ordinary. 'I just wanna wake up, you know?'

Angel sighed - yes he knew. 'At some point you'll just be at the grocery store, or with Amanda and the whole werewolf thing - it'll just be a part of who you are.'

'Next you're gonna tell me you actually like being a vampire,' she smiled.

'Being practically indestructible is pretty cool... This is a big adjustment, Nina, it's scary and it's new - but it only has to be a big deal if you let it. You're not the first werewolf I've ever known. The guy I knew - he was just a kid in high school when he got bit. He coped, he graduated, he had relationships. He lived a normal life - still does, I bet. But then I knew this one guy, he wasn't a werewolf - but he found out he was part demon. It hit him really badly, he took to drinking - lost everything. It took him a long time to claw his way back out of the funk he got himself into. But even he's adjusted now - he's doing fine. You just have to accept yourself, Nina, not let this define you. We can keep you safe during the full moon and you can be exactly who you were the rest of the time.'

'I'll never be exactly who I was.'

'That's the nature of change - any change. But change doesn't have to be bad.'

She nodded, frowning thoughtfully at his words. 'I can't tell them,' she said, softly. How could she go about explaining this to her sister? The thought was too much - especially when it was all so new, so raw for her. Hell, she didn't understand it - she couldn't expect Jill to. 'You ever think of just letting go, disappearing somewhere?' she asked.

'Look, if you separate yourself from the ones you love - the monster wins.'

'You make it sound so simple.'

He shook his head, 'well it's not.'

She smiled at his honesty. 'See you next month,' she said - and opened the car door. She got out and Angel watched as she crossed the lawn and joined her family.

* * *

When Cordelia arrived at the office that morning, the first thing she saw was a massive and expensive looking bouquet of the most beautiful flowers sitting on the desk. There were orchids and lilies and pale pink roses all tied up in a silk ribbon. Her face lit up into her thousand kilowatt smile. 'Doyle! We can't afford this. You shouldn't have…'

From somewhere behind the bouquet he cleared his throat awkwardly. 'Uh - I didn't. You should read the card, Princess.'

She picked up the card nestled in the leaves and glanced at her boyfriend. She caught sight of his expression - it was pretty grim. 'What's wrong?' she asked.

'Just read the card. '

She looked down at it:

_Congrats, Cara Mia, on your big break! A face that beautiful deserves to be splashed everywhere - and now, thanks to a little sprinkle of fairy dust, it will be. Can't wait to see what campaign we can book for you next time. You're gonna be huge, my little starlet._

_Love, Lorne _

The note dropped from her fingers and she looked back at Doyle, 'you read this already?' she asked. He nodded.

'_Lorne_ booked me that gig?'

'I'm sorry, darlin'...'

'From Wolfram and Hart? That's how the company knew to ask for me?' They didn't remember me from 'Stain Be Gone' at all. They work for Wolfram and Hart. Lorne _sold _me to them.' She sank down in the chair opposite Doyle, and put her hand to her brow, pushing her hair from her face. 'I can't believe this.'

'I'm sure he was just … tryin' to help, y'know? I'm sure he didn't mean …'

'To buy my soul for evil incorporated?'

'It was just getting you some work.'

'No - it was more than that! Don't you see? If I take this job, that Wolfram and Hart got for me … then I owe them, they _own_ me.'

'And buyin' themselves a slayer probably seems like a pretty sweet deal,' Doyle nodded. 'I really am sorry, Princess. I know you wanted this.'

She shook her head. 'I should have known,' she said, though her eyes were still wide and her tone betrayed her disbelief. 'I should have known it was too good to be true. And once I knew there were vampires on set - that should have tipped me off something was wrong!' Her eyes grew even wider. 'Everyone else there must have known the score. No way nobody just wasn't noticing the guy had horns. They all knew it was some big underworld scamola. I heard the vampires talking - about the returns they were gonna get - from me! They were talking about me! They were gonna use my face for the campaign and trade my soul in the underworld to make sure it was a success. That's what they said, I just didn't realise.'

Doyle shifted uncomfortably in his chair. 'I'm sure Lorne had no idea about that, darlin'. I'm sure he just thought he was doin' y' a favour.'

'Doing Wolfram and Hart a favour,' she muttered darkly. 'And here was me thinking I was there because I was good. Because I _deserved_ to be there.'

'You do deserve to be there! You are good - but you know - that kinda business, it's more about who you know than what y' know.'

'And I just happen to know the person who runs all the evil show business in the whole of Los Angeles! Lucky me.'

Doyle leaned forward across the desk and took hold of her hand. 'I know this is a setback,' he said to her, gently, 'but it's better we find this out now - than when it's too late. And you _will _get booked for more modellin' gigs, I swear. Maybe not as good but … ones that don't come with selling your soul to the underworld, or even to The Senior Partners. Things will get better. I promise.' He squeezed her hand.

'Yeah,' she sighed, not looking convinced. 'Well, I guess I better go ring Jenkins tell him I'm not doing any more work for that company.'

'And tell him to check where people found out about y', in future. No more accepting gigs from people with sketchy backgrounds.'

'Yeah.' She stood back up with a sigh, used her right hand to sweep the bouquet off the desk and into the trash can, and then picked up the phone to ring her agent to tell him she was cancelling her contract with 'Unleashed'.

* * *

Angel was in his penthouse. It was night time, Connor was sleeping and he was enjoying the view from his home on top of the world. He always loved being high up - loved the way the world seemed to fall away, its problems shrink with the distance, the peace that came with being far above it all. But tonight he wasn't enjoying it alone. He had finally invited his friends up to the apartment - and they were admiring it too. 'Talk about a room with a view!' Lorne said, standing by the plate glass window.

'Wow. Is that the hotel?' Fred was stood next to him - she pointed at a tall building in the distance. Wesley followed the line she was pointing in, 'uhm - no, I think that's the centre for Scientology.'

Fred giggled. 'Right. They look nothing alike at all.'

Gunn was looking around the place, at the large living area that Angel now called home. 'I was starting to think we'd never see the inside of this place,' he said.

'I'm sorry, I should probably have had you guys over sooner,' from his place on the couch, Angel glanced around at the luxury room. 'I was just trying to get used to it myself.'

Lorne turned away from the window and noticed the bar in the corner of the room. 'Look at this - I'm home! Cosmos all round?' He began to pour the drinks. Gunn settled down on the arm of the sofa. 'Don't mean to talk shop but, Crane's bistro of the bizarre….?'

'Permanently out of business,' Angel told him. Though it had been a bind having to free Royce, who deserved everything he got. But he'd done it - he was a champion.

'What if I have a craving for sasquatch soup?' Wesley joked.

'Is that something you English eat with your beans on toast?' Gunn teased him. But all this food talk was making Fred hungry. She picked up the Chinese menu and offered it around.

'Just order the usual, Freddikins,' Lorne said.

'I'm buying.'

Everyone stopped and stared at the vampire. 'Ladies and Gentlemen... Hell just froze over!' Lorne announced - and everyone laughed.

'So - werewolf girl?' Gunn asked Angel - as Fred made her phone call to the takeaway - 'think you got a shot?'

'Maybe - she gave me a look.'

'Really - a look?' Wesley sounded impressed. 'And she's neither a teenager or currently dating your best friend, or the human resurrection of your sire come back to haunt you. This is progress.'

'Still blonde though,' Gunn pointed out.

'Yes, there's still work to be done,' Wesley smiled. They all laughed again - and Fred finished making her call and hung up the phone.

* * *

_Clink! _The champagne glasses nudged together, again - and Doyle smiled at his girlfriend. They were cuddled up on her sofa - their Chinese takeout was in cartons on the coffee table. 'I'm sorry we couldn't afford the good stuff this time, darlin',' he said to her. They were drinking the boxed champagne again - and the bubbles were stinging their noses, once more. 'It could be worse,' Cordy said, she leaned across and gave him a kiss.

'Yeah - here's to not bein' owned by Wolfram and Hart and The Senior Partners.'

'To being free,' she toasted, they clinked glasses again and took another drink. She shuddered. 'Although it would be nice if we had a bit of money coming in.'

'Ah - somethin' will turn up - you'll see. It always does.'

'I know.' She smiled. 'We'll be fine. As long as we have each other - everything will be OK.'

'As long as we have each other, then all is right with the world - and there's not a power out there who can change that.' They kissed again, and then Cordy scooched round so she could snuggle up closer and rest her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her and they settled down to watch T.V and drink their cheap champagne.

* * *

Brent ran through the streets, cutting down sideroads and bolting through alleyways - trying to shake them off. But nothing was working. And he was getting tired - whereas they were only just warming up. He heard the pounding of their footsteps grow closer and closer - thumping the earth in a steady rhythm - and he knew this was it. He was suddenly grabbed from behind and slammed against the wall. He stared fearfully up at his attackers - and then the sword swung, and he fell...

* * *

**A/N There won't be an episode next week because of the holidays. Happy Christmas to everyone celebrating and a wonderful New Year to you all. **

**Episode 4 is 'Hellbound' and will start posting in January. **


	14. Hell Bound: Part One

**Hell Bound**

_Part One_

The flash of Cordelia's camera went off - blinding in the darkness - as she took yet another photo of the latest murder victim. They seemed to spend their lives attending demonic crime scenes now and they were no nearer to discovering what was doing this. There was no clue, no pattern - it was just random, mindless slaughter. The same story - over and over again. So here they were, on yet another night, trying to figure out yet another death.

'This guy -' Doyle said, from down near the ground where he was examining the body - what was left of it anyway, 'he was a Roishnik demon.'

'Yeah?' She took another photo - the flash blinded them both again for a moment - and even when it faded, little glowy blobs seemed to dance in front of her eyes. 'Do you know anything about them?'

He shrugged, 'little, harmless - mostly. Talk in riddles a lot. Real hard to get a straight answer from a Roishnik. But they're not bad guys.'

'You know - that does seem to be one of the few things any of these kills have in common,' Cordy noted. She put her camera into her purse and went to crouch beside Doyle so she could get a better view of the Roishnik's wounds. 'All the demons we've found - that girl, Xandra - her distant relative, Arnie - that guy they found in pieces … none of them seem to have any particularly noteworthy powers, they all seem to be peaceful…'

'Y'think someone's taking out easy targets?'

'Could be.'

'Like who … a slayer we don't know about, working the joint? Not knowin' the difference between bad and good demons 'cause they're too new to the gig?'

She frowned. 'Maybe a slayer … or maybe Gunn's old gang? They did this before, remember?'

Doyle nodded - he remembered. He remembered finding his old friend, Kizzie, shot to a thousand pieces in his own home, and then being chased, himself, for several blocks - on a broken leg - by the gun toting maniacs. He'd escaped by vaulting a chain link fence and hiding behind a dumpster. If only it had been that easy to escape for the Roishnik - or for Xandra or Arnie - then they wouldn't be dead in an alley, and Doyle and Cordy wouldn't be investigating. 'I dunno,' he frowned. 'I think whatever's doin' this…' he glanced around at the devastation in the alleyway, 'I think they're bigger, scarier and better organised than Gunn's old gang. Besides - we're in the wrong part of the city. They don't cross Venice Boulevard no more.'

'Unless they got bored defending their turf and went back to hunting, again.'

'I don't know, darlin'.' He got back to his feet and brushed his hands off, 'if it was just Gunn's friends… I had a vision about this death,' he pointed out. 'The Powers directed me to this alley - but they did it too late. I knew it was too late when I saw it, knew it had already happened … if it's just a few street kids gettin' rambunctious - why wouldn't The Powers just tell me straight?'

'I guess,' she stood back up, as well. 'But that means we've had another death and we still don't know any more. We're getting nowhere… is the tarp in the truck?'

'Yeah.'

'I'll get it.' She left Doyle alone in the alley - with the mutilated corpse of the Roishnik - and went to get the tarpaulin from the bed of the truck. Then together they wrapped up the body and carried it back to the car.

Doyle was quiet as they drove away, and Cordy - in the passenger seat - glanced across at him. 'You OK?' she asked him.

'Yeah,' he said, though his voice was heavy. 'I'm just ... worried. When The Powers start sendin' me visions of people I'm too late to save, it's never a good sign. And it usually means it's my fault - what's happenin' - one way or the other.'

'Well, then, 'fess up, stop murdering all these defenceless demons in alleyways and we'll say no more about it.'

He gave her a look. She just smiled at him. 'This isn't your fault, Doyle. There is no way this is linked to you. The Powers are just … being The Powers. Unknowing. Ineffable. And not a damn bit of use to anyone.'

'That sounds like them, all right.' He stopped by a red light. Across the block there was a twenty foot billboard attached to the side of the building. The advertisement splashed across it was for the fragrance 'Unleashed' - the photo was black and white and depicted a girl who looked very much like Cordy … but wasn't Cordy. It was Doyle's turn to look across and check she was OK.

'I'm fine,' she said a little sadly. Doyle smiled sympathetically. 'Hey, Princess - I know you're thinkin' that should be your face up there - but it really is better this way.'

'Being poor and passing up my biggest chance of fame and wealth?'

'Being free - that poor girl up there,' he nodded at the billboard, 'her soul belongs to the lower realms now - and she might not even know it. No one wants that. You gave up all your family and passed over the offer to join the ranks o' Wolfram and Hart - and all the wealth and power that goes with that - so you didn't have to align with the dark side. Seems a bit silly to then sell your soul for a modellin' contract.'

'I know, you're right.'

'I always am,' he smiled, as the light turned to green and he stepped on the gas.

'It's just - nothing's been going right for us lately,' Cordelia said, quietly.

'Ah - things'll pick up. You'll see.'

* * *

Fred walked down the darkened corridor, headed for her lab. Her nose was stuck in her research papers and she was ignoring the prickle down her spine that told her she was being watched. She entered her department, which was in darkness - the last of her scientists having just left, and put her papers down on one of the benches - still reading it through. Then she stiffened up, the sense of being watched becoming overpowering. She turned round - looking back at the door - but there was nothing but darkness. Frowning, she turned back again - and screamed and dropped her notes. Spike was standing right in front of her. He wasn't looking convinced. 'How long did you know I was there?'

'Since the lobby,' she said, apologetically. 'But that popping up behind me was really scary. Look! I dropped my papers.' She bent down and picked them back up.

'Nice touch,' he said,

'Thanks.' She giggled and pushed her glasses back onto her nose. Then she put down the papers and picked up her scanner. Spike stood still as she scanned around him. 'Oh,' she sounded worried, 'your radiant heat temperature's dropped another 02 degrees.' She turned the scanner so he could see the reading on the screen. He folded his arms, defensively across his chest. 'Thought it felt a bit nippy.'

'Is everything … are you…?' She didn't know quite how to finish that sentence, didn't know how to say it tactfully. Spike wasn't bothered for tact thought. 'Feeling the tug of eternal damnation?' he asked, 'yeah - it's taking everything I have to stop me slipping into hell.'

'I won't let that happen,' she promised. She was working on a theory - well, maybe it was closer to a hunch … but the good news was that she thought she was getting close.

'To making me a real boy again?'

That made her laugh. 'Well, as real as a vampire with a soul can be. It won't be like Angel's thing with the prophecy but…'

Spike furrowed his brow. He didn't know what she was talking about. 'What prophecy?'

'Oh you know,' she said, airily - not noticing his change in demeanour. 'The Shan shoe- ha somethin' or other. Says that if Angel helps enough people he gets to be human again.'

'Oh really?' He nodded, bitterly, 'goody for him.'

But Fred had stopped listening - did not notice the tone of jealousy in his voice. She was too busy looking at her research - and she thought she finally had something. 'Ah, that totally makes sense!'

Her excitement made Spike forget the news about Angel and his shiny promised reward - for now. 'It does?' he rushed to her side. 'What does?'

'The fluctuations in your readings. Lack of particle cohesion. It's almost as if your essence is straddling a dimensional void, which may be the key, assuming that the amulet that you used to save the world is some sort of trans-reality amplifier capable of focusing massive quantities of mystical energy.'

Spike was looking utterly bemused. 'And what - in the King's English - does that mean to the dearly almost departed?'

'It means that if I can defy most of the laws of nature,' she took a deep breath and beamed at him, 'there's a good chance I'll be able to anchor you to this plane and make you corporeal.'

Spike's face lit up - and then his smile became flirtatious. 'Well…' he said, reaching his hand out and attempting to lean on the lab bench. But he never got to finish his sentence. His hand went straight through the hard surface and the rest of him followed suit. He fell through the bench, through the floor and kept on tumbling.

Fred frowned after the vanished vampire. 'Spike?'

* * *

He landed - flat on his face and quite hard - down in the basement. He had no idea how or why he'd just fallen through several storeys of law firm, but it was lucky he'd stopped in the basement. He didn't really feel much like falling all the way down into the sewers … or down to the earth's core … or right the way through the other side and popping up in Australia.

He got to his feet and looked around - it was dark and dank, like most basements. He'd spent a lot of the last year in one basement or another - crazy, chained up and sometimes both at once. He wasn't looking to take a trip down memory lane. He needed to get back up to Fred … he just had to find the stairs. Bloody pain is what it was. You would think that if a bloke … a ghost was incorporeal, unable to spirit the knicknacks about or willy the locals, then he shouldn't be bound by the laws of sodding gravity either. If he could fall through the floors then he should be able to float _up_ through them as well. But could he? - bloody right he couldn't. Royally screwed - that's what this whole ghost caper was, the universe right royally screwing him.

He began to make his way through the gloom. He could hear a noise - a strange, repetitive, chopping sound. He made his way towards it and found a man sitting at a table, completely alone in the darkness. The man had his back to him. 'Don't mean to interrupt the sitting in the dark basement, mate,' Spike said, 'but could you point the quickest way back to the lab? As the ghost flies.'

He took a step closer - and then he could see the source of the strange sound. The man held a large carving knife - and was chopping his own fingers off one by one. Even as a vampire ghost, who had done some pretty nasty stuff in his time, that made Spike pull up short. The man turned and looked at him, then - and Spike saw his face. His lips had been cut off as well - and there were deep, bloody gashes all over his eyes and cheeks. Spike stumbled backwards - and then the man disappeared; vanished as if he had never been there at all.

Spike looked around the dark space, unnerved and disconcerted. 'I'll take that as a no,' he muttered to himself.

* * *

They parked the pickup in the underground parking lot and entered Doyle's apartment through the connecting, sliding doors. Doyle took his jacket off and headed straight into the kitchen, filling the teakettle and popping it on the stove to boil, but Cordelia was stood in the middle of the room, staring upwards, frowning. 'I think there's someone upstairs,' she said.

'What's that?' Doyle turned away from his tea making to look at her.

'Upstairs - I can hear … something.'

'It's a bit late for clients,' he said, checking his watch.

'That's what I was thinking, yeah.'

Silently, Doyle switched off the stove, picked up a sword and handed it to Cordy and then picked up his fighting axe. He gestured to the stairway with his eyebrows and she nodded. Cautiously, they made their way up the steps, Cordelia in the lead - and, on finding nothing in Angel's old office, crept through the darkened space towards their own. She pushed the door open and snapped on the lights. 'Angel!' she exclaimed, for it was he - sitting in the dark, with Connor on his knee. 'What are you doing here?'

'I was just - you know - in the area, thought I'd drop in and say 'hey'.'

'Hey,' Doyle said. Angel just gave him a look, 'and I thought maybe we could, maybe, talk as well.'

'Are we in trouble again?' Cordelia asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

'What?'

'When Gunn dropped by a couple of weeks ago to say 'hey' and maybe talk - he came to tell us off for killing some vamps that worked for a snooty client of yours. Threatened us with escalating the situation if we didn't rein it in.' She put her sword down on the desk and held her hand out for Doyle's axe, taking it off him and putting that down as well.

'He said that?... To you guys?' Angel looked genuinely surprised and not at all pleased to hear this news. He looked up at them, they had both remained standing - Doyle leaning against the side with his arms folded and Cordy over by the desk. 'I didn't tell him to do that - you know that right? I'll speak with him. Thing is … Gunn … he, he's been through some… changes.'

'You mean lettin' Wolfram and Hart turn him into a lawyer? Yeah, we know about that, man.'

'Yeah,' Angel leaned back on the sofa. 'He didn't tell us that was going to happen until after it was already done. The rest of us … we don't know what to think about it. But he gets real defensive if you bring it up. I don't know…' he shook his head, 'it's just hard, you know?'

'The deal with the devil is turning out to be devilish? Huh - who'd've thought?' Cordelia raised an eyebrow, but she also quirked a smile at him. She went to go sit beside him and took Connor onto her own lap.

'Yeah - everything's just … did Gunn tell you about Spike?'

Cordy and Doyle shot an alarmed glance at each other. 'What?' Cordy asked, just as Doyle said, '_the_ Spike?'

'Yeah,' Angel said, glumly. 'He's back - sort of.'

'And you're not killing him because - _why_?'

He glanced at the woman sat beside him. 'Because he's already dead. More so than usual. He died helping Buffy save the world - and now he's back, as a ghost. And a giant, bleached blonde pain in my ass.'

'Why did Spike help Buffy save the world?' Doyle asked, sounding utterly bemused.

'Because he's in love with her. He has a soul now. _He's a champion_.' His voice became bitter.

'And you're not,' Doyle nodded, understanding in his eyes, 'least not any more - and that's why you've come to slum it with the good guys? Hopin' we can make y' feel better?'

Angel smiled ruefully, 'am I that obvious?'

'You've always been an open book, my friend. But, truth is…' he shrugged, 'the good fight isn't actually goin' very well at the moment.'

'We've been stuck on this one case for weeks,' Cordy explained, 'we keep getting mired in deeper but we can't seem to solve it.'

'Well - you wanna tell me about it? Maybe with all my new resources I could… pull some strings, find stuff out for you?'

'I don't think so. The Powers are sending chicken little visions about it now. They'd be mucho unimpressed if we let The Senior Partners muscle in on their turf.'

Angel looked even more despondent. 'I hate this,' he told them, 'I hate being on the opposite side to you guys. I'm not really - you know? And if there's any way I can ever help you out, without pissing off our respective higher power bosses, then all you need to do is let me know - and I'll be there.'

'We know,' Doyle nodded, 'and the same goes for us. We're always here for y', bud - even if we can't be there every day.'

Angel nodded, he looked grateful - but also depressed. As if the weight of his agreement with Wolfram and Hart were pressing down on him, crushing him slowly. 'I just keep thinking - there must be a way out - but I can't see how without endangering Connor. And if I have to fight on the side of evil in the apocalypse … how can my reward be to be made human? How can I get a reward at all?'

'Yeah … especially now there's another champion vampire with a soul out there to take the shiny prize instead.' Both men frowned at Cordelia. _'What?'_ she asked, seeing their expressions, 'come on! I can't be the only person thinking it!'

'Well that's just great,' Angel muttered. 'All these years I've been working towards atonement - and then Captain Peroxide swoops in at the end and gets made human in my place. Of course he does.'

'Atonement isn't about the reward, though, bud,' Doyle said to him, gently. 'It's about the journey, it's about seeking forgiveness.'

'I can't be forgiven for the things I've done.'

'And neither can I. But we can still work to make the world a better place than we found it. We can't change the past - but we can make the future safer for everyone.'

'Except my future's been signed away.'

'For now,' Doyle smiled. 'But one of the perks of immortality? Future is one thing that you're in no short supply of.'

'You'll get through this, Angel,' Cordy squeezed his leg. 'You'll see.' He nodded, and then took the baby back off her. 'I better get this little guy home,' he said, 'thanks for the pick me up.'

'Any time.'

...

The vampire and his son collected their things and then left, Cordelia ushered them out of the office, shutting the door behind them. 'Well - I guess I better be going too,' she said.

Doyle looked surprised. 'You're leavin'? It's late - you could just stay here.'

'Yeah, but Dennis will be worrying. I need to get back to my ghost - commune with the dead.'

Doyle suddenly frowned. 'Commune with dead,' he repeated, half under his breath. She glanced up at him, 'what was that?'

'Nothin' - it's just,' he shook his head, clearing his thoughts, 'stay awhile, Princess, I think I've had an idea.'

* * *

'Look I didn't know she was going to pull out!' Lorne said, walking down the hallway chatting into his cellphone. 'I thought it would be right up her street - a big campaign like that. Don't know what got into her. But isn't it just the way? You negotiate a deal for a friend and end up getting kicked right in the horns.' Fred stormed past him, her nose buried in her papers. He waved a green hand at her but she didn't even look up. He shrugged and carried on his conversation, as he stepped into the elevator. 'But this new girl - how's she working out? I saw the billboard…'

...

Fred hadn't even noticed him, she walked through the lobby and into Wesley's office. Without looking up, she ripped the top sheet of paper from the pad and thrust it into his hand. 'I need these as soon as possible,' she said and turned and walked back to the door.

'Hello Wesley, nice to see you,' Wesley said, smiling wryly. She came to a stop and looked back at him, slightly abashed. 'Oh, sorry. Little preoccupied.'

He looked down at the note she had handed him and read the list that was scribbled there. 'The Magdalene Grimoire, Necronomicon des Mortes, Hochstadter's Treatise on Fractal Geometry in 12 dimensional space. 'Preoccupied' might not be the word we're looking for.'

But Fred just wanted to know how fast he could get them. He got to his feet and walked round his desk, speaking slowly. 'Well… half of these antiquities are of the rarest order. If I exploit every contact I've made in the last month as the new head of research and intelligence…' Fred's face fell. '...Twenty minutes,' Wesley told her, smiling slightly. Her face lit up. 'Great, let me know when they're in.' She headed back to the door.

'On one condition,' Wesley said, stopping her in her tracks once more. She turned back to look at him expectantly - and he leaned against his desk, folding his arms. 'Dinner,' he said. She looked flustered, 'oh - uh…' she didn't know where this had come from. Sure she knew he'd always been interested - back in the old days at the Hyperion… but they saw so little of each other lately, and she'd never done anything to suggest...

'I mean you,' he clarified, 'having one. A real one. When was the last time you had anything besides day old takeout? Or had more than a nap up in your lab?'

She nodded. 'I'm OK,' she assured him, 'really. Twenty minutes? Thanks. And don't worry - I am totally, completely …' she turned around and came face to face with Lilah, 'aah!'

'You know I often get that reaction,' Lilah smirked. 'Shouldn't you be up in the lab? Running your pet project?'

'I - I'm going there now,' Fred said, looking slightly unnerved. Lilah always made her feel uncomfortable. Especially knowing that she and Wesley had …

'Well you'd better run along then. And whatever you're doing - it had better work. You're over your quarterly budget … by 800 000 dollars - and peach pie, the quarter aint over yet. Angel was supposed to talk to you about it - but he's disappeared … again.'

'Well - uh - I'll just be…' she glanced back at Wesley, who was watching the unfolding conversation, and then back to Lilah, who as always wore that superior smirk, as if she knew something you didn't… which was probably true. Fred wondered if Lilah was really there to talk to her … or if she was hanging around Wes' office for other reasons. 'I'll just be running along then.' She edged past Lilah and scurried away, up the stairs to her Lab.

The other woman watched her go, the smirk never moving from her face - and then headed into Wesley's office.

...

'What brings you here, Lilah?' Wesley asked, his voice curt and stiff. She smiled wider - though now there was a bit more warmth to it. 'I was supposed to be in a meeting with Angel. But the champ sandwich has taken himself off - wherever it is that he goes when he's not here.'

'Isn't it your job to know that sort of thing - where Angel goes?'

'The company tries to keep tabs on all its more important employees … but you know the Dark Avenger. He's sneaky. So...' she clapped her hands together, 'I'm not in my meeting… I was crossing the lobby and I saw you - in here - talking… to little Winifred.'

He sat down behind his desk and leaned back in his chair. 'Jealous?' he asked her.

'Of Gidget?' She gave a bark of laughter. 'I was watching, she barely looked at you.'

'She's busy.'

'Too busy for Wesley.'

'So … there really was no purpose to this little visit, other than to snipe at the state of my relationship with Fred.'

'You don't _have_ a relationship with Fred,' Lilah pointed out, she walked deeper into his office and sat down on his desk. She crossed her long legs. 'Chances are, you'll _never_ have a relationship with Fred. So the question is,' she ran her fingers down her leg, slowly and sensuously, 'why abstain from what's right in front of you for a dream you can never achieve?'

His eyes were locked onto her fingers, watching them trace up and down her thigh. 'It's about what's right and wrong, Lilah,' he said to her, still not looking away from the mesmerising tickling movement of her hand. 'We work on opposite sides.'

She laughed - and slid off the desk. 'Funny,' she tossed the words over her shoulder as she walked out, 'and here was me thinking we both worked for the same company now.'

* * *

Having finally found his way back to the laboratory, Spike found it empty and in darkness. Whatever it was she was up to, right now, Fred appeared to be doing it elsewhere. 'Never a fetching mad scientist around when you need one,' he muttered. He saw some of her notes resting on the bench. He squinted down at them - but they made not one iota of sense to him, and he couldn't turn the page to see if the rest of it was any less mystifying. 'Whatever you're cobbling together, pet, you better hurry it along.'

A dark shadow passed over him, just then, but when he looked up there was nothing there. He frowned - a spook. 'Done chopping your feelers off in the basement are you?' he called into the darkness. 'Floating upstairs for a few chuckles now?'

The light outside the lab began to blink on and off - plunging the surrounding hallway into darkness and then lighting it up again before swamping it once more in black. 'Right,' Spike made a scoffing sound at the back of his throat, looking out towards the flickering bulb. 'Vampire ghost here, mate. Sodding invented afraid of the dark.' But he still walked out into the hall.

The light above him went off - and then the next one further down the hall, and then the one after that. It was like they were directing him down the corridor. 'Bugger this,' he called out. 'I'm not playing follow the blinking light for the rest of the…' he cut himself off as he heard a woman crying in the darkness. He walked towards the sound. 'Alright - lured me in with the creepshow. Now what?'

He saw the crying woman, she was crouching on the ground. She was dressed the way maids had dressed back when he was alive - wearing an apron, a shawl and a mob cap. As he got closer she stood up and turned around to face him. 'Hold me,' she held out her arms - but as her shawl fell back he saw that her arms were gone, leaving only bloody stumps. She staggered towards him. 'Please. Hold me, please … it's coming.' And then she vanished - as if she had never been there at all.

* * *

Angel finished singing his lullaby. He reached out and stroked Connor's hair as the little boy slept, clutching his stuffed bunny. His cheeks were flushed and rosy, his breathing deep and even - and Angel had never seen anything so beautiful. It was hard to tear himself away. Everything at Wolfram and Hart was hard and confusing, the shades of grey and the bigger picture were tearing him apart - eating away at his soul. But Connor was the reason he was here. He signed that contract to bring Connor home and he was only honouring it to keep Connor safe.

Watching his infant son sleep helped remind him of why this sacrifice was necessary, why nothing mattered more - it reminded him of what was truly important, and brought a kind of peace that he didn't find elsewhere. But he would be lying if he said his situation didn't still weigh heavy on his heart. Everything he had fought for, everything he had hoped to achieve, the future he had so desperately wanted … it all seemed so impossibly out of reach right now. And he didn't know when - or if - he would be able to get back on the right track.

With a deep sigh, he walked out of Connor's room into his living room and poured himself a glass of blood from the decanter. With an even deeper sigh, he realised that Spike was in the room. 'What did I tell you about being up here?' he closed his eyes wearily. 'Shop's closed, Spike, come back and haunt me tomorrow.'

The other vampire sniffed. 'Air's too rarefied up here for my tastes anyhows. Down with dregs is where I belong, isn't it?'

'And yet he's still here,' Angel muttered under his breath - though loud enough for Spike to hear. He walked over to the window and stared out at the view - at the twinkling lights, made tiny by the distance - trying to ignore his unwanted visitor.

Behind him, Spike shuffled his feet, uncomfortably. 'Just thought we could hang, is all. Couple of vampires from the old days - doing our … hangy thing.'

'You're beginning to feel it, aren't you?' Angel asked, still gazing out of the window. 'How close you are, now … to hell.'

Spike looked annoyed. 'What if I am? Not like it's such a big deal, is it? If a ponce like you could break out…'

'I never escaped from hell. All I got was a short reprieve. Not even sure how I managed that.'

But that annoyed Spike even more. 'Oh put your martyr away, Mahatma,' he snapped. 'Fred told me about your great shining prophecy. Pile up your good deeds and get the big brass ring handed to you...' he looked around at the luxury penthouse suite, '...like everything else.'

Angel finally turned and looked back at his old … friend? Enemy? … Brother. Blood Brother. So Spike knew about the Shanshu … and after what Cordy had said earlier, that knowledge left him more rattled than he cared to admit. 'The trouble with prophecy,' he said, 'is that they don't allow for free will. Stupid, human free will - messing up the finest of plans. And there's so many of them - floating around - that they bang up against each other, cause collisions - and then new things happen. And then - hey - just 'cause something's prophecied, set in stone and meant to be, doesn't mean a higher power won't step in and alter the entire fabric of reality. Meant to be the promised one? Die in a blaze of glory? No problem - the PTB will save your neck and suddenly prophecies that weren't even written about you become about you - and look at that, you're the messiah of an alternate dimension and all the priests are power freaking because a boy cow can't perform the Com-shuk.'

Spike was frowning, 'I'm not sure I'm following…'

But Angel wasn't listening. 'And that's assuming the prophecy was ever accurate in the first place. 'Cause you know, a time travelling demon could've flitted back in time and rewritten the ancient scrolls to say something completely different. And your transcribing guy ends up translating the lies and - wham - your whole family's blown apart and you end up doing something _monumentally stupid_ to try and make it right. And then you save the world - but you owe a debt - and look where you are,' he waved his hands around to encompass the room, 'CEO of an evil law firm. And that prophecy that was written just for you? Your reward … well it's hard to see how you can fulfil that now. And maybe - just maybe - it wasn't about you after all. Because guess what? - just up the coast another vampire has himself an attack of the wiggins, gets himself a soul - if you please - and suddenly you're not the only vampire champion in the club. So yeah - don't take anything that's written with more than a grain of salt, because nothing is actually set in stone. Everything is subject to the whims of the higher powers, the lower powers, the powers in between, cryptic technicalities _and_ the occasional mistranslation.'

'Huh.' Spike arched an eyebrow. 'I see this is a sore spot for you.'

'I've just seen my fair share of prophecies come to pass - and not - to know not to set much store by them. I've seen enough to know that none of it matters. What we do. Not now. The things we did - the lives we destroyed - that's all that's ever gonna count. So yeah. Surprise, you're going to hell.' He sat down on the couch, heavily, 'we both are.'

'Then why even bother?'

'What else are we gonna do?'

'So that's it then,' Spike realised, 'I really am gonna burn.' He sat down next to Angel.

'Welcome to the club.'

'Least I got company, eh?' Spike said, looking sidewards at him, 'you and me, together again. Hope and Crosby. Stills and Nash. Chico and the…'

'Yeah, are we done?' Angel asked irritably.

Spike shook his head, and looked away at Angel - now facing forward. 'Never much for small talk were you? Always trying to perfect that brooding block- of- wood mystique. God I love that.'

'Not as much as I loved your non-stop yammering.'

'Always having to be the big swingy, swaggering around, barking orders…'

'...never listening.'

'Always interrupting.'

'And your hair - what colour do they call that? Radioactive?' He raked disdainful eyes across the peroxide.

Spike tutted and folded his arms. 'Never much cared for you, Liam. Even when we were evil.'

'Cared for you less.'

'Fine.'

''Good.' There was a moment of silence, and Angel shifted, uncomfortably. 'There was … one thing about you…' he admitted.

Spike raised an eyebrow in surprise, 'yeah?'

'Yeah … I never told anybody this but…' he leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. 'I liked your poems.'

The eyebrow became sardonic. '_You _like Barry Manilow!' He sounded distinctly unimpressed. But then he went quiet when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look - and saw a man hanging from the ceiling, a noose around his neck.

'What is it?' Angel asked, noticing his expression.

'Don't you see it?'

'See what?'

He shook it off, 'nothing,' he turned away, 'too much talk of fire and brimstone…' He turned back to Angel - and saw the hanging man now standing directly behind the vampire. He stared.

'What?' Angel asked him - completely oblivious to the third dead person in the room.

* * *

Cordelia sat on Doyle's couch, flipping through a magazine. She was tired and wanted to get home to bed - but Doyle had insisted she wait. And - would you believe it? The magazine only had an 'Unleashed' advert among it's glossy pages- a double spreader. She tossed it aside with disgust and then looked up as she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, Doyle appeared in the apartment, followed by a young and very busty blonde woman in a skin tight, red dress. Cordy raised a suspicious eyebrow at her boyfriend, but he only smiled - shaking his head at her implied inquiry. 'Cordy, this is Sheila,' he said indicating the woman, 'she's a medium. I think - ah - I think she might be able to help us with our little problem.'

'_Her?'_ Cordy asked, her voice was unbelieving. She turned to the woman,_ 'you?_ You speak with the dead?'

'For a reasonably priced fee,' Sheila replied, tilting her head to one side and pouting. 'And I believe Francis is in need of my services.'

'Nobody calls him that,' Cordelia snapped.

'Aw, sugar, maybe you just don't know him as well I do.'

Cordelia's eyes flew to Doyle. He squirmed. 'I know her,' he said, 'but I don't you know … _Know_ her. You know I know a lot o' guys.'

'I don't think Sheila's a guy.'

But Doyle only gave her a pointed look. 'Look, she's a medium - she can talk to departed spirits, or whatever. She gets in touch with our Roishnik, asks him who offed him - you go slaying.' He shrugged and then grinned, 'I can't believe I didn't think o' this before.'

'And can you really do it?' Cordelia asked Sheila suspiciously. 'You can really contact the dead and speak to them?'

'All I need is for you guys to back off - give me space - and let me do my sweet funky,' Sheila assured her. 'But it better not take too long. I have Pilates at obscene o'clock in the morning.'

'Huh,' it was Cordelia's turn to tilt her head, 'where do you go to Pilates?'

* * *

Spike was pacing up and down the room, frustrated and agitated - he pushed his hands through his hair and grunted in annoyance as Angel questioned him, 'right now?'

'Yes right now, right here!' There were three ghosts now - prowling the room. He and Angel had been joined by Wes and Fred, and the three spectres laced their way around the group - getting right up close, though everyone else remained oblivious to them. And they were trying to talk to him - the spooks - saying cryptic messages in creepy voices. He grunted again. 'Piss off!' he yelled, 'I'm trying to have a conversation here, shut up!'

Wesley glanced around the room, perturbed, 'who's he talking to?' he asked Angel.

'Ghosts.'

Where?' Fred looked around as well. As Spike watched she stared straight into the face of the ghost with no arms … but she saw nothing.

'Everywhere!' he shouted in exasperation, 'the blighters are coming out of the bloody woodwork!' He switched back to talking to the spectres. 'No - I'm not talking to you. Go away!'

Gunn and Lilah arrived - Lilah had a smirk on her face which suggested that, whatever was happening, she was enjoying it very much. 'We just checked with security,' Gunn told the group.

'They do hourly sweeps with the mystics to secure against spectral intrusion,' Lilah added.

'So how many are we talking about ?' Angel wanted to know. But the simple answer was none. The last sweep had been only ten minutes ago - and Spike was the only non-corporeal in the building.

Spike watched warily as the armless woman circled him. 'It's coming for you,' she hissed at him. He looked back at the others, 'check again,' he demanded. He knew what he saw - knew what he heard. These mystics had it all wrong.

Fred looked troubled, 'maybe we should head back to the lab,' she suggested. But Spike was adamant they were right here in the room and this was where it needed sorting. They needed to check again - clearly something … very strange was happening. And it was happening to him. And he was right pissed off about it. And scared. Though he wasn't going to say that in front of Angel-breath.

'It's here,' the hanging man hissed at him. He closed his eyes for a long moment - and then when he opened them he walked towards Fred. 'Fred, please,' he put his hands together as he talked - the tips of his fingers were pointing at Fred, but there was something of a prayer in the gesture, 'you have to use that perfect brain of yours and get me…'

Fred frowned as Spike faded - going transparent and then disappearing completely. His voice just trailed off into silence. 'Spike?'

'Where'd he go?' Lilah asked. Angel only shrugged - he did this sometimes.

Spike - still stood in the middle of the room - stared at the other vampire. 'Does what?' he asked. No one answered him.

'We should spread out, see if we can find him,' Fred said - as Spike turned and stared at them all in bemusement. They were staring right through him. 'We just need to find him.' Everyone turned and exited the room - spreading out into different directions to search in different places.

Spike stood in the middle of the room and stared after them - not knowing which one to follow. 'What are you going on about?' he called after them, 'I haven't gone anywhere. Fred?' he took a few paces after her, 'I'm - I'm still here. Fred!'

'She can't help you know, William,' a dark, hollow voice echoed through the room - seeming to come from the very walls. 'No one can.'


	15. Hell Bound: Part Two

_Part Two_

The medium - Sheila - sat at the head of Doyle's dining room table. Cordelia looked at her quizzically, 'is there something we should be doing?' she asked.

'Shutting up and letting me get on with dialling up a dead soul?'

'I just meant…' Cordelia glanced at Doyle to convey her annoyance at this woman being brought in, 'it feels like we should be a part of this. It's our lead you're chasing.'

'Ugh - fine,' the medium sighed, 'if you want to be involved - both of you - come and sit next to me, either side.' The pair of them went and took their seats. 'Now,' she continued, I'm going to mutter a few calming words to get us in the zone, I need you both to blank your minds and just … _be.'_

'Would it help if we closed our eyes?' Doyle asked.

'You do you, babe,' Sheila told him, 'whatever helps you go blank. Now - deep breaths, clear minds … and lets see if I can't rustle you up a ghostie.'

Doyle and Cordelia glanced at each other across the table. He smiled at her, and she gave a small smile back. Then they reached out and held hands and closed their eyes. Sheila the medium glanced down at their clasped hands, rolled her eyes and started the ritual.

* * *

Spike stood alone in the middle of the room - it was dark and the shadows crept across the walls. He looked around, trying to find the source of the mysterious voice. 'Is this the part where I say 'who's there?' And something creepy happens?' he called out. The same black shadow from the lab flitted past him, once more. 'Thought so,' he muttered.

The bell on the private elevator suddenly dinged and the door slid open - casting the light from within out into the dim room. 'Oh no, haunted lift. Take a slice more to wet my knickers.' With a sigh of impatience he stepped into the lift, the door slid shut behind him and it began to travel downward.

* * *

They had finished their search and found nothing. Wes, Fred and Gunn regrouped inside Wesley's office. 'Angel does have a point,' the watcher said to his friends. 'Spike has been unintentionally disappearing more and more frequently.'

Gunn only shrugged, 'give him 20 minutes and he'll be popping up next to you in the bathroom making cracks about your…' he trailed off when he saw Fred's startled look and then the blank expression on Wesley's face. 'Am I the only one he does that to?' he asked, suddenly suspicious.

'I know he's done this before,' Fred said to both of them, she didn't think they really got it - didn't understand why this was so urgent. They needed to be told - screw what Spike said, she couldn't do this all by herself. 'But you saw the way he was acting - something's different this time! He's agitated, hallucinating.'

Gunn wrinkled his face in confusion, 'ghosts can do that?'

'We are dealing with a unique case as far as manifestations go,' Wesley spoke slowly and leaned against his desk, his arms folded across his chest. 'Dementia is not out of the question.'

But Fred shook her head in frustration, 'he's not crazy,' she insisted.

'Screaming about people who aren't there? That's grounds for involuntary committal under the Landerman-Petris-Short act which states…' Gunn trailed off when he saw the way the others were staring at him. 'Oh, sorry,' he said sheepishly, 'sometimes the law they stuffed in my noggin just clicks on.'

There was a delicate, uncomfortable pause - as everyone privately considered the ramifications of Gunn allowing Wolfram and Hart to mess with his brain and how little they knew about it - and then Fred got back to the pressing subject at hand. 'You don't know what Spike's dealing with. Where he goes when he disappears. It's hell.' She took a deep breath and then stared at them both, making eye contact she refused to break, 'he's slipping into hell.'

There was another pause - and then: 'kinda figured.'

'Of course.'

'Where else would he be headed?'

* * *

Wesley was alone in his office - Fred had gone back to her lab and Gunn had … gone off somewhere else, working the problem some other way, Wes supposed. He sat down in the chair behind his desk and picked up one of the books he kept there. It was one of the special 'template' books, which could call up any text in Wolfram and Hart's not inconsiderable archive. He held the spine to his lips and muttered 'any reference to spiritual manifestations experiencing hallucinations,' wondering if there was anything out there that could help them - help Spike. He wasn't hopeful.

'It's the building, isn't it?' a voice said from over by the door. He didn't look up, 'what do you want, Lilah?' he asked her, trying to convey boredom and irritation in his tone. But it didn't work, she only came further into the office and sat down opposite him. 'You ever ask yourself just how many people have died here?' she asked.

'Well, last year it was - by my count - the entire staff that were at work on one particular day,' he finally looked up and made eye contact, 'apart from you.'

'And I've been meaning to thank you for that, lover,' she smiled. 'So where do you think they all go?'

'Who?'

'The souls, the spirits of the people who sign their life away to Wolfram and Hart? They're not still here - the mystics found no non-corporeal entities apart from Spike. So where are they?'

He put the book down and leaned back in his chair, pondering the question. 'I suppose they go … on.'

'On?' she laughed.

'A final destination - a heaven dimension or …'

'A hell dimension,' Lilah finished up, nodding. 'That's the one. You don't get a whole lot of people working in this building who move on up once they shuffle off this mortal coil. They all go in a … more southerly direction.'

'Your point being?'

'Spike saved the world,' she too leaned back in her chair, mirroring Wesley's position. 'Fell in love with a slayer, got himself a soul, fought for his redemption and went out in a blaze of glory. That's the kind of thing you would think would earn you a sweet spot on a fluffy cloud, maybe a harp. I suspect Spike would eschew the Birkenstocks. But… he died wearing the amulet. The amulet belongs to Wolfram and Hart. Ergo, he died in service of Wolfram and Hart … and now our peroxide flavoured champion is on a one way ticket to hell.'

'Is this going somewhere, Lilah?' Wesley frowned at her.

She smiled again and got to her feet, 'only that … you've helped save the world before, my Wesley, and now you're signed up in service of Wolfram and Hart. You ever stop to think what direction your soul will go in - when the inevitable happens?'

'What about yours?'

That made her laugh. 'Oh, I'm under no illusions about my fate. Why do you think I accepted this liaison job? Because I want to spend my life running between The Senior Partners - who are terrifying - and that great chump, Angel - who is infuriating? Please. I took this role for the immortality clause. To keep my feet from the literal fire. But it won't last forever. Nothing does. Face it, Wesley - every single person in this building: me, you, Spike … Fred, we're all going to burn. I'll see you later,' and she walked out of the office, leaving Wesley to his reading … and his thoughts.

* * *

Sheila breathed in deeply through her nose and then exhaled through her mouth, she worked on calming her mind and just letting the energy flow through her. She breathed in and out again and once she felt a sense of serenity throughout her being - which took her away from herself and connected her to the beyond - she began to say the words designed to bring about an atmosphere in which the dead would feel comfortable speaking freely. 'I call upon the guardian of souls, the keeper of the passage. Let our breath flow from what is to what has passed. Bless us with the presence of the lost. Grant us communion with the world beyond our reach. Give voice to those who can no longer be heard. I beseech you, open your gates … reveal your secrets.'

There was a long moment of quiet, Cordelia stifled the urge to laugh as nothing seemed to happen. But then Sheila nodded, 'OK … I am sensing a presence.' Both Doyle and Cordelia's eyes flew open and they turned to look at her. 'Is it our Roishnik?' Doyle asked, 'does he know what killed him?'

'Shh shh - you'll spook him, don't go so fast.'

'We'll spook _him_?' Cordy muttered under her breath, 'he's the one that's dead.'

'My friend,' Sheila said - her eyes were blank and she stared straight forward, not looking at either Doyle or Cordy but instead seeming to see through them - through the walls of the apartment, and instead was looking at what lay beyond. 'We reach out to you, we come in supplication for the answers that only you can give. If you are willing to help us, please give us a sign.'

There was silence - and absolutely nothing. Doyle and Cordy glanced at each other, then around the room and then back at the medium. 'Is he talkin' to y'?' Doyle asked her again, 'what's he sayin'? Is he there?' But she only shushed him once more.

* * *

The elevator bell rang, again, and the door slid open. Spike stepped out and looked at his surroundings. The basement. It had to be the basement. He heard the same sound from before - the chopping noise in the distance. He began to walk towards it. 'I already played this one out,' he called, 'not like another round's gonna rattle my knobs.'

But when he got to the table - the ghost of the man was no longer there. His amputated fingers were, though, twitching on the surface. Spike stared down at them, torn between disgust, utter bafflement as to what was going on and being extremely pissed off.

A woman appeared in the corner of the room, stepping out of the shadows. She was dressed like a secretary from the 60s, in a pencil skirt and blouse - and there was a large shard of glass embedded in her left eye. No prizes for guessing how this one died, then. She walked towards him, on her stilettos - and then giggled and sang out '_it's gonna get you.'_ She laughed again.

Spike stared at her warily. 'What exactly would _it_ be, love?'

'_Reaper's gonna take you,'_ she sang and continued to laugh. But now Spike joined in, letting out a bark of disbelief. 'The reaper?' he said to her, 'Tall, grim fellow with a scythe? Is that what all this boogie-boogie's been about?'

She had stopped singing now. 'It hurts,' she said - and her voice was filled with pain. But Spike wasn't even listening. 'I been knocking around the land of the lost for months now, pretty as you please. Slip through the cracks, did I?'

'Don't worry, William,' she yanked the shard of glass from out of her eye, 'Haven't forgotten you.' She slashed out with the shard right at Spike's face. Even though he was a ghost, could touch nothing in the real world, he felt the sudden pain of the cut. And then the woman was gone; vanished like all the others. He put his hand to his cheek and felt the wetness there - and then he brought his fingers down and stared at the red that stained them. And, he couldn't deny it now, couldn't ignore it - he felt the very real pang of fear.

* * *

There was no where else to go - so he went back to the lab. To watch Fred. If he was going out - if this was his final bow - then she was the only person here he cared about, only person who seemed to care about him. He should spend this time with her. Even if she couldn't see him, couldn't hear him, couldn't help him.

She was working away in her lab. Still trying to save him. Of course she was - ever the hero. He hadn't known her long, but he'd grown fond of her in that time - felt for her more than he'd ever felt for any human, except the niblet … and Buffy.

She was working on equations - they might as well be written in Greek for all the sense they made to Spike. Actually - that wasn't true - he'd been made to study Classical Greek at school as a boy, he might actually be able to make head or tails of that. But this was just gibberish. As much hocus pocus as what Red got up to. 'Carry the quotient load across the remainder…' she muttered to herself, 'support the imbalance with Lumirea's fourth constant...'

But her words meant nothing to him, and he wanted to say goodbye - even if she wouldn't know about it. 'Think I know what they are…' he said to her as she stared down at her papers, occasionally frowning and then scribbling something down or erasing it furiously. 'The things I've been seeing, they're the welcoming party. Guess hell got tired of waitin'. Reaching out for me now. Sent their boy around to collect me.'

'I knew it,' Fred muttered under her breath, paying no attention to the invisible, inaudible Spike.

'Knows my name. Knows how to hurt me. I wanted to thank you, pet. How you tried to help. Wanted to tell you what that meant to me before I …'

'Damn I'm good!' Fred announced triumphantly. Spike immediately cut himself off and stared at her excitedly. 'You are?'

'Frickin' genius! Just cancel out the radical.'

His whole demeanour changed - he grinned victoriously and stuck two fingers up at the thin air. 'Thought you had me, didn't ya?' he taunted this unknown reaper. But Fred's face had fallen, and she was frowning again. 'Which causes a feedback wave which liquefies half of Los Angeles.'

The gloating smile melted off Spike's face, 'what?' he demanded, though she couldn't hear him.

'Oh I'll never figure this out!' Fred cried in despair.

'Yes you will,' he insisted. 'Genius, remember?'

She got to her feet and began to walk away, he followed after her. 'Don't throw the towel in now, Fred, please!' Instinctively - and despite the fact that he knew nothing would come of it - he reached out to grab hold of her arm in his desperation. Just for a moment he forgot he was incorporeal and just _needed_ to stop her from leaving him. His fingers brushed against her skin and where they touched - there was a sudden electric shock. He yanked his hand away - and she jumped as she felt the sudden spark, turning to see what had caused it.

'Spike?' she called out suspiciously.

He stared down at his hand and then back up at her. 'That's right, love. You felt it too, didn't you? I'm here. I'm still here.' The shadow passed across the room again and he stared up at it in fear and frustration. 'No!' he yelled at it, 'she can feel me! You're not taking me yet. You're not taking me!'

Fred backed up a few paces, still looking alarmed. 'Spike, if it's you give me some sort of…' as she backed up she hit against something big - and squealed and turned to look. 'Oh! Would everybody please stop doing that?'

Angel was there - having crept up behind her unnoticed - and was staring at her like she was mad. 'Sorry - I just wanted to let you know…'

'Angel, something was in the lab,' she interrupted him. 'It - it touched me. I think maybe it was…'

'Fred, we did another sweep with the mystics. They didn't find anything.'

But she shook her head, not accepting that as an answer. 'Screw the mystics. I know what I felt. We have to find a way to contact him before he's really gone.'

* * *

Sheila had closed her eyes, now, and was breathing deeply as she attempted to channel the spirit of the dead Roishnik. Cordelia and Doyle were still holding hands across the table and were watching her - Cordy's expression was a little sceptical. 'I feel him', Sheila said - her tone was all shallow and breathy. She moved her head from side to side, her eyes now tightly shut, as she tried to capture his essence. 'He speaks through me … he doesn't know where he is. Doesn't understand…'

'Well tell him he's dead and he needs to get over it … but you know - in a nice way. Then ask who killed him.'

Doyle tried to give her a disapproving look, but he had to bite the inside of his lip to stop his small smile bursting into outright laughter.

'You have passed beyond the veil, my friend,' Sheila intoned, 'can you tell us your name…' there was a long pause. Cordy and Doyle leaned forward expectantly. 'He says his name is M'hatmik of the Roishnik clan … he doesn't understand.'

Cordelia stared up at the ceiling, her eyes wide with frustration. 'M'hatma - you're dead. Deal already and tell us who did it.'

'M'hatmik,' Doyle corrected her.

'Whatever.'

'He remembers … pain,' Sheila breathed, 'and slashing knives, shining silver in the moonlight and fear and blood and then nothing.'

'That would be him being killed and then dying - _who was holding the slashing knives?_'

'He knows them … recognises them. He has heard … oh such horror stories, he never thought were true. In his worst nightmares would never have believed…'

'And _they_ are?' They both leaned even further.

'He knows them only as The…' she was cut off by her cell phone ringing, her eyes opened. 'I'm sorry, I better take this,' she said, fishing in her bag and looking at the caller ID. 'Hello?'

Cordy and Doyle both sat back, and gave out matching sighs of deflated anticipation. 'You gotta be kidding me,' Cordy said, 'we were _this_ close. Now who knows where Mahmood has got to?'

'M'hatmik,' Doyle corrected her again.

'Whatever.'

'OK guys,' Sheila rung off from her call and looked at them, 'that was some pretty big cheese on the phone and they pay way better than you do - so I'm gonna buck. But this was fun. We should try it again.' Cordelia just glared at her. 'OK - I'll see myself out,' the medium said, ignoring Cordy's stony expression, shouldering her bag and walking up the stairs and back out through the office.

* * *

The team sat around the conference table - waiting. Spike stood lurking in the corner, watching them. They still had no idea he was right there. 'Perhaps we should reconsider this,' Wesley said, after a long and very heavy silence. Gunn raised an eyebrow - glad someone else had said it. 'You think? Seen enough horror flicks to know these things always turn out ugly.'

The door opened and Sheila walked in in her tight, red dress. Gunn smiled, 'I stand corrected.'

Lilah followed Sheila inside and shut the door. The medium went to sit at the head of the table and Lilah took a seat beside Wesley. Wesley glanced uncomfortably at her - and then at Fred. But Fred had her eyes fixed firmly and hopefully on Sheila.

Sheila smiled around at them, 'Alright, let's get to it. Lilah tells me that you've lost a ghostie.'

'Well,' Fred started to correct her, 'he's not technically a ghost actually, more of a …'

'Yeah whatever,' Sheila interrupted - sounding supremely uninterested in the metaphysics of Spike's condition. 'Now - I have Pilates at the crack of _why- am- I - awake? _So we're gonna move this right along. I will mutter a few calming words to get us into the zone, and then we'll see if we can scare up your missing spook. OK clear your minds … which judging by the looks of you, won't be that hard.'

Fred fidgeted in her seat and smiled a little uncomfortably. 'Should we hold hands?'

Sheila tilted her head and made a patronising little sound, 'only if you're lonely. Now zip it - and let me do my sweet funky.' She closed her eyes. 'I call upon the guardian of souls, the keeper of the passage. Let our breath flow from what is to what has passed. Bless us with the presence of the lost. Grant us communion with the world beyond our reach. Give voice to those who can no longer be heard. I beseech you, open your gates … reveal your secrets.' Her eyes suddenly snapped open. 'I feel a presence.'

'Damn right you do,' Spike said, from his corner.

'Very close.'

'Skip the claptrap and tell them to get me out of here,' he told her, impatiently.

'So much pain,' Sheila moaned.

Fred looked worried and leaned forward. 'He's in pain?' she asked. But Sheila didn't answer her - her eyes were locked on the ether and she was channelling the presence she felt, speaking all the sensations that flooded into her without even realising what she was saying. 'The dark soul … so much suffering.'

Spike sighed, 'dark, pain, suffering,' he listed, walking towards her and standing at her shoulder to yell at her. 'They've got it. Now tell them to help me.'

Sheila's eyes suddenly widened in fright and she began to whimper. 'It's coming ... it's coming.'

Spike's brow furrowed in confusion. The rest of the team were just staring blankly at Sheila as her breath became ragged and shaky. 'I'm already here,' Spike told her - and everyone, but no one listened. 'What are you going on about?'

'Oh God,' her voice was actually shaking now, her body trembling and her eyes were wide and staring. She looked and sounded terrified - like she was staring into the abyss and did not like what she saw. 'I can feel it. The dark soul. It's here… it's - it's the R…'

'The Reaper!' Spike screamed in frustration. 'The bloody freakin' Reaper. Go on! Tell 'em!'

'It's the…' she suddenly grabbed her own throat and began to gag. Her hand clutched at her necklace as if trying to pull it free - but it was tightening around her neck, even as the gang watched. She screamed.

'What's happening?' Fred asked, frightened, as the woman began to choke right in front of their eyes. Spike was also watching - confused and dismayed. He couldn't see what was attacking her - but he had a good idea. And she wasn't going to be able to help him now. Spike would still be trapped - and this would be another round to the Reaper.

'Spike,' Angel said out loud to the room at large, his voice was firm and commanding. 'Stop it.'

Spike stared at him. The bloody idiot. The great big tit. 'It's not me, you git,' he told him - though of course Angel-breath couldn't hear. The enormous plank of wood just didn't get it that Spike wasn't evil now. And even if he was - he had never been thick enough to try and kill someone who was helping him. But wouldn't you believe it - Angel had his one incredibly dumb theory and was sticking to it. Spike watched as the other vampire pushed his chair back and sprung to his feet like the big man in charge, swinging his big…

'Let her go,' he commanded - and went to the woman's side to help her. She sat back up then - gasping for breath - and it looked, for a moment, like she was regaining her composure. Like Angel's demands for her freedom had worked. Though … her nose was bleeding a little.

'Are you OK?' Fred asked her, sounding concerned. The woman stared at her - Fred stared back, worried and then Sheila spat blood right into Fred's face and immediately collapsed face first onto the table, dead.

* * *

Angel was pacing, Fred was fretting and Lilah was organising the removal of Sheila's body. Wesley caught Gunn's eye and then indicated the door with his head. Both men rose from their seats and walked out. They headed into Angel's adjoining office and shut the door behind them to talk privately.

'OK, what that hell was that?' Gunn asked. He was looking freaked - he _knew _these things always turned out ugly. 'I know they used to call Spike "William the Bloody" but why would he go all Scanners on her?'

'He wouldn't,' Wesley said, tersely. He gave a shrug. 'No advantage in killing someone who was trying to help him.'

Gunn thought about that for a second, looking confused. 'So you're saying … it was an accident?'

'Or whatever she contacted wasn't the "dark soul" we were expecting.'

Gunn thought through all the repercussions of what that meant. 'So, if she wasn't talking about Spike…' he began to say, slowly.

'Then there's something else here at Wolfram and Hart,' Wesley finished up for him. 'Something a hell of a lot worse.'

* * *

Doyle was back in the kitchen. It seemed a long time since he'd first put the kettle on the stove - before they were interrupted by Angel stopping by for a brood and hang. He was fixing Cordy an herbal tea and had poured himself a whisky. Once the tea was made, he carried them both through to where she was sat on the sofa. 'So … what's the plan now?' she asked, taking her cup from him, 'thanks.'

He sat down next to her, leaned back and rested his arm along the back of the couch, so it was loosely wrapped around Cordelia. 'I still think tryin' to talk to M'hatmik is the best lead we got,' he told her. 'Otherwise we're back to hopin' for another murder and prayin' that this time the knife wielding maniacs leave us a clue - a carpet fibre or some fingerprints or something.'

'I swear - some serial killers are just so inconsiderate.'

Doyle smiled. 'Only trouble is - I don't think Sheila's comin' back tonight. And if we leave it too long after our Roishnik has crossed over…'

'Then we might not be able to reach him?'

'Exactly.'

'So…' She took a sip of her tea and looked at him expectantly. 'Do you know how to talk to dead people?'

'Not really - at all - no.'

'So … what?' she asked. 'What do we do?'

'There must be ways for none psychic people to talk to the dead. It must be possible to conjure up spirits and get 'em to have a chat. Don't you think?' He looked at her, questioningly - wondering if he was way off on this one. He didn't see why he would be. The world was full of dead people. Vampires - and ghosts - and apparently now vampire ghosts. Life continued after death - he knew that for a fact. M'hatmik was still out there - which meant he could still be spoken to, just as long as they could find the right frequency.

'You think there might be some kind of magic spell we can do - to contact the afterlife?' Cordelia said, cottoning on to his way of thinking. He nodded. 'It's just a theory.'

'Late night trip to the magic store?' she asked. He nodded again. 'Sorry, darlin' - I know y' wanted to be off. But I think we really need to get this done.'

'It's fine,' she gave him a swift kiss on the lips and then put her tea down. 'It's a good job we moved back to Downtown,' she said, 'nice and handy for your guy in Korea Town.'

'He does this stuff all the time,' Doyle agreed, 'he'll be able to hook us up.'

* * *

It had been a long night - on top of a very long day. And Fred had been practically living in the lab for … weeks now. She was bone weary. She ached and she was tired - and now she was covered in a dead woman's blood. And she still couldn't go home - because she still had to work the Spike problem. She couldn't just leave him to slide into hell and burn for all eternity. So she settled for taking a shower in the ones near the lab.

The hot water felt good on her skin - washing away the aches. She washed her hair and scrubbed Sheila's blood from herself. She didn't want to get out, she just wanted to stay under the warm spray and blow away the cobwebs and let the stream of the water massage and soothe her right the way through to her bones. The longer she stayed the more steamed up the place became.

Spike stood on the other side of the glass screen and watched her. He wasn't _watching_ her, he was just _being_ with her - because there was no place else for him to go. And no one here he would rather be with. Especially if these were his last few minutes before an eternity of hellfire. He was talking to himself as she rinsed the shampoo from her hair. 'Why did it kill her?' he muttered, 'Reaper's supposed to take souls - not make 'em. If it's come for me… couldn't be worried she was gonna help. She didn't even know I was there. Unless it wasn't about me…'

He came to a sudden realisation and looked up at Fred, starting to talk directly to her now, instead - though she remained utterly oblivious, under the spray. 'Fred, I think I know why it killed her. It was trying to hide something, something it didn't want you to know because...' As he had been talking he had reached out - instinctively, like before - to touch the glass, to press home his point, forgetting he would just fall through. The tips of his fingers made contact with the screen and - again - there was that sudden crackle of electricity. He snatched his hand away and stared down at it, wondering.

He reached out again - but this time his hand passed straight through the shower screen as if it was nothing but air. He brought his arm back down to his side. 'Come on,' he muttered to himself, 'just … reach out…' He reached out his index finger - concentrating with all his mind, focusing every fibre of his being on the tip of his finger and the glass screen. He made contact - and this time he didn't pull away.

Slowly - and concentrating harder than he had ever concentrated on anything in his life, he drew out six letters. It was torturous - wondering if he would make it to the end - but he did. He wrote only one word - to let Fred know what to look for: REAPER. Then he stood back and watched as she switched the shower off. She reached for a towel and wrapped it around herself - then she twisted her long hair and wrung out the water droplets … and then she spotted the word.

It was backwards to her - and she tilted her head to try and make sense of it. She took a step closer - reading the word, working out what it meant - how it got there. She got as close as she could and peered right at the writing. Spike watched her - waiting. And then - the glass suddenly cracked and then shattered into a thousand pieces, falling to the floor. Fred jumped backwards to avoid the flying shards and Spike suddenly felt something grab hold of him and tug him backwards. He was yanked from the lab and thrown through the darkness.

* * *

He landed flat on his back in the lobby. It was completely dark - and devoid of all life, wherever Angel and the others were - it wasn't here. It gave Spike the impression that he had been pulled out of the real world and was now in some kind of parallel reality. A shadow land where only the ghosts could dwell. He rolled over, groaning - and saw a man in a sharp suit walking down the stairs - his footsteps echoing out in the otherwise eerie silence .

Spike got to his feet. 'Come on, then,' he said to the man, 'no more games. No more hiding in the shadows. Let's do this … right and proper.' He got his first full glimpse of the man - as he walked closer towards him. 'A lawyer?' he laughed scornfully.

The lawyer walked towards him - and Spike watched him. He seemed perfectly normal. But then he turned his head and revealed that one side of his face was all bashed in and bloody. 'William,' the bloody faced man said.

The armless ghost appeared then and reached out for Spike with her stumps. He whipped around to look at her. 'Hold me,' she moaned.

'No!' Spike shook his head and tried to push his way out through the spirits. The secretary with the shard of glass in her eye walked past him. 'It hurts!' she cried.

'No - I'm not talking to any more flunkies,' he insisted. 'You hear that?' He looked around - staring into thin air and shouting into the darkness, hoping to speak with the as yet unseen spirit that was behind all this. 'Got your number, don't I? You're sending in third rates to rattle my chains. You're just some silly little twit of a spirit trying to have a go at me, aren't you? Big bad Reaper come to take me to hell. Not bloody likely.'

He snorted in derision - but then was knocked flat on his back. And he saw … flashes - sudden visions of horrendous torture. Of himself under sharp and evil looking implements - and he felt the pain of them, even as he lay there. He screamed out. And that was when he heard the disembodied voice again. 'Oh yes, take you screaming. An eternity of suffering for your sins.'

And then a figure melted out of the darkness - tall and broad, in old fashioned clothes, with matted, dirty hair and dark rings under his eyes. The Reaper held one of the sharp implements from Spike's torture vision, and stroked it lovingly. 'But first I get to play. Let's get started then … shall we?'


	16. Hell Bound: Part Three

_Part Three_

The magic shop smelled as funky as it always did - weird herbs and incense and fermenting newt eyes, Cordelia wrinkled her nose slightly and tried not to breathe too deeply as she and Doyle spoke to the guy behind the counter. The magic shop owner had a large, leather bound spell book open beside the till and was running a finger down a list of ingredients, consulting it. 'How long has this guy been dead?' he asked them.

'A few hours - maybe five,' Doyle told him, 'we got there not long after … but it was already too late.'

'Huh… well, it's always easier if the soul hasn't long since passed on,' the guy explained, 'especially if the body hasn't been ritually buried or cremated.'

'He's currently wrapped in a tarp in the back of our truck,' Cordy said. The shop owner raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on their disposal methods. 'Burial - following a ritual the deceased had some form of faith in, allowing the people still on this plane to say that final goodbye - acts to sever the soul from the body completely. Lets the soul rest in peace, as it were - allows it to move on. Before that's taken place,' he screwed up his mouth and thought best how to explain it, 'it's like there's still a link between body and soul - a faulty one, shaky … like a bad signal on a T.V. And because you're guy is still linked - albeit poorly - to his body, the strength of the spell you'll need to conjure him up is less. Which is good - neither of you are actually witches, right?'

The young couple both shook their heads. Neither had any particular magical talent. They just had to hope that the words and spooky incense would be enough to get the job done. 'OK - well it's a simple enough spell - that's the good news. You'll need some sacred sand,' he moved away from the till and took down a jar of sand, which was a strange purple hue, unscrewed the lid and poured a quantity into a little mason jar. 'And some virgin candles,' he opened up a drawer behind the counter and took out some fresh, white candles with long wicks.

'Now - you need to paint this symbol,' he showed them a picture inside the spell book, 'onto a surface - floor, table, whatever you choose - and then sprinkle the sand counter-clockwise around it in a circle. This creates a sacred space for the soul to appear. You place the eight candles equidistant around the circle - and light them. Start at the 12 and this time go around clockwise, you getting this?' This time they both nodded their heads. 'Good,' the man said, nodding approvingly, 'then once you've finished the set up you just chant the words and the soul should appear inside the circle. Once he's there - you can ask him what you want. But you won't have long, because neither of you have any magical power of your own, you won't be able to keep him more than a few minutes. So keep it short. Keep it snappy. Ask what you need to find out and let him go. Once you're done, blow out the candles and say the closing incantation - to make sure his soul doesn't get stuck between planes.'

He took out a pen and a pad of paper and scribbled down the incantations they would need to both open and close the ritual, as well as drawing them a quick copy of what the symbol should look like. As an afterthought, he scribbled down the instructions as well - in case they forgot. Then he handed the note, the sand and the candles over to them and they paid and turned to leave the shop.

As he got to the door, Doyle turned back - his brow was furrowed as if he was worrying about something. 'Can I just ask, bud?' he said, 'you said that the spell bein' simple was the good news so … what's the bad news?'

The guy behind the counter took a deep breath. 'Well - truth be told - the spirit world doesn't like when you try and pull someone back across the dimensions. Even for a little bit. Disrupts the natural order - it's supposed to be a one way ticket, you follow? So when you try and call someone back - someone who's already crossed over - the spirit world will fight back. Hell - it'll throw all it's got at ya. I heard the witch who resurrected a slayer, one time, actually coughed up a whole snake. This ritual you're about to try … it could get nasty. You both need to be on your guard.'

* * *

Wesley had pulled out all the books he could get his hands on off the shelves and they were spread around the office. The men were all in there, leafing their way through the pages - looking for anything that could give them a clue as to what had happened to their medium, and what was happening to Spike.

Lilah was sat in one of the chairs, her long legs crossed, watching them. As always, she had a smirk on her face.

'You know you could be doing something more to help,' Wesley told her irritably, 'speak with The Senior Partners - find out what they know.'

'I work for them, lover, I don't lunch with them. They want me - they call. They don't want me - I stay away. And for now, they're staying silent. You're on your own on this one.'

'Well then, pick up a book and start looking. If you're here - you're here to help - otherwise get out of my office.'

She raised an eyebrow at that - and leaned down to pick up a book. But Angel, watching her, couldn't help but sense that her arched brow and languid manner was masking more than a little hurt. Things might be over between Wes and Lilah, he realised, but they weren't _over_. And maybe they never would be. And maybe this was just another complication that he was going to have to learn how to deal with, along with balancing the scales, the bigger picture and embracing the grey.

It shouldn't have to be this way. He missed when things were simpler - when he could just go out in the streets, kill himself a bad guy and then go home to his hotel. He had a sudden fleeting desire to drop his book and run away back to Doyle and Cordy, but he fought it back down. That was ridiculous. And anyway - it was late. They were probably in bed. With each other. And Angel had his best enemy and worst friend to save.

'OK got it,' Gunn's voice cut through Angel's thoughts. 'The dark soul,' he tapped the book he was reading with the back of his hand.

'What's it say?' Angel asked.

'A lot. There are over 3,200 different references.' He looked up at his boss, 'four of them are about you.'

'What? Give me that,' he snatched the book away from Gunn and began to scrutinise the words. He paced up and down as he read, his bottom lip stuck out in a pout. Over by his desk, Wesley was complaining that this was getting them nowhere - but Angel was barely listening. 'See this?' he looked around at the others - his expression injured, 'I didn't even have a soul when I did that!'

'What about the other three references?' Lilah asked him, 'is the time you locked 12 people in a wine cellar with your sire and your insane protege in there? That was a good one - definite one for the history books.'

'They were Wolfram and Hart lawyers,' Angel said tersely.

'Right...' her answering smile was bright. 'Remind me again which company it is you run these days? My my - if only the Dark Avenger could see himself now.'

'There must be a way to narrow down the search,' Wesley's voice cut between the two of them, sounding irritated and impatient, trying to bring them back to focus on the job in hand.

'Reaper,' Fred came running into the room, pulling her cardigan on - her hair was still wet from the shower. 'Cross reference with the word Reaper.'

'Where'd you pull that?' Gunn asked, sounding impressed.

'Came to me in the shower.'

Angel was scanning through the book, ignoring all the unfair and inaccurate information that was listed about himself. 'Here he is. Mathias Pavayne. Dark Soul number 182.'

'I've heard that name before,' Lilah frowned.

'I'm sure you have,' Wesley said, working away at his computer. 'There's a file on him in internal archives. He's in the classified histories.'

'Is there more than in this book?' Angel asked, still reading, 'this doesn't tell us much: European aristocrat. 18th Century. He was a doctor nicknamed "The Reaper" for performing unnecessary surgeries.'

'What kind of surgeries?' Fred asked, looking alarmed.

'The kind you don't recover from,' Wesley answered, as the file on his computer opened and he was able to access the archive. Mathias Pavayne had fled to California when word of his unorthodox practices had started to spread. As the area was still under Spanish rule at the time he had been able to avoid the reach of the authorities pursuing him. But his arrival had coincided with a rash of grisly murders - brutal and ritualistic - pieces of the victims placed in a manner showing evidence of knowledge of the dark arts. These murders had continued for the better part of twenty years… until one day they had just stopped.

'Oh,' Lilah was nodding her head, now. 'I remember the name now. Legend of the law firm has it that when The Senior Partners were looking to open a local branch they used seers to find them the perfect slice of real estate. But there was a mission built right on the spot that the mystics insisted was the proper confluence of dark energies and ley lines needed to host their presence on this earth. Well, you can't just build a Mecca to all evil right on top of holy ground. They needed to find a way to deconsecrate it. So they found the worst serial killer, the darkest most depraved soul they could find and spilled his blood as the appropriate sacrifice.'

'Mecca to all evil?' Angel said, repeating her words back. She nodded, happily, 'and you run it all.'

Fred was looking troubled, 'so this place is built on the blood of a mass-murdering psychopath?' she asked.

Wesley nodded, 'seems like.'

'But if Pavayne's half as bad as he sounds … he should have been roasting his chestnuts in hell centuries ago,' Gunn said.

But Angel already had a theory. Wesley had said that Pavayne had displayed knowledge of the dark arts, perhaps he had known enough to figure a way to stick around - to not cross over. That probably explained why the mystics were unable to get a beat on him, as well. But what Angel couldn't understand was all the other ghosts.

Wesley frowned, 'but there aren't any.'

'Exactly! High risk employment - people die here all the time…'

'Some are murdered in their own wine cellars,' Lilah said, with a smile. Angel ignored her. 'This place should be full of spooks. So what happened to them?'

'Maybe this Pavayne character's munching on them,' Gunn suggested.

'Whatever he's doing to them - we need to get Spike back,' Fred said, 'before he's next.'

* * *

Spike crawled across the floor on his belly, dragging himself away for them Reaper. This ghost - spook - whatever it was seemed to have control of their surroundings - he could affect things, touch things … make things happen.

They were in the lab - the Reaper had brought them here - willed them out of the lobby and into the lab. Glass beakers were exploding, their shards flying through the air and cutting Spike, even though he was incorporeal. The lights flickered. The Reaper was able to touch him - to beat him and cut him- and Spike was bleeding heavily from many nasty scratches now. He'd been around long enough by now to know when he was beaten - so he was trying to escape, inching his way across the floor … but the Reaper was just toying with him.

'Vampire soul... Watch it struggle, more fun than the others,' the hollow voice said.

'Go to hell,' he looked up - and saw that somehow the Reaper was now directly in front of him - looming above him. The spirit smiled down, 'your journey - not mine.'

The light in Fred's office switched on and she appeared, visible from the lab through the big glass window. The Reaper stared up at her. 'Oh the pretty … still trying to save you. Such passion so... wet and sweet. Perhaps I'll have a taste one day.'

Spike struggled back to his feet and threw a punch at his tormentor… but his fist just passed through, still incorporeal - despite the fact that this other ghost could touch him. The Reaper laughed, a dark, cold chuckle - amused but deeply unpleasant. 'Still thinking like meat and bone,' he sneered, 'none here boy. In this place...'

The lab faded away - and now the two of them were back in the dark of the basement. '...all rules are mine,' the Reaper said. 'Reality bends, my desire - the way it was meant to.'

Spike realised something, 'Bending reality?' he repeated. He hadn't just faded away before. It was the Reaper that had made it happen, that was why the others couldn't see him any more. The Reaper had chosen to make it that way.

The Reaper smiled as he listened to Spike figure it out, showing uneven, yellowing teeth. 'Parlour tricks, to amuse,' he told the vampire, 'like your blood.' He waved his hand and all of Spike's scratches and cuts smoothed over and healed in an instant. Spike put his hand to his face and felt his cheek - where the skin was now knitted back together. 'Oh yes,' The Reaper gave that dark, hollow chuckle again, 'nothing here without the will. Your voice … your body…'

'Clothes you think you wear,' the other ghosts were circling him again now, and it was the woman with the glass shard in her eye who spoke, her voice as sneering as her master's. Spike looked down - and saw that his clothes had disappeared, leaving him naked and vulnerable in front of the spirits. The ghosts circled around him.

'William the Bloody,' the hollow voice said, 'scourge and destroyer. But scratch the surface…'

'Little Nancy still crying for his mother,' the armless ghost hissed.

'Know all your hiddens,' the Reaper told him, 'dirty, red things you've done. Then fell in love. Won himself a soul. No more dirty things. Thinks himself special.'

'Thinks it matters,' the bloodied secretary said.

'Hell still waits,' the hanged man told him. He stared around at them, these grisly apparitions circling him.

'Knows he deserves them,' the Reaper said, 'like all the others.'

'You killed them,' Spike said - still staring at the circling ghosts. But the Reaper shook his head - no, he didn't kill them. They had all died here, in service of Wolfram and Hart. Little ants, scurrying from the flames.

'Their spirits hung on,' Spike said, slowly, still watching them, 'tried to keep from tumbling into hell. Until you gave them a shove.'

'Burning now. Screaming forever. Like you'll scream.'

'Well,' his voice became stronger - and sounded more pissed off than he had a moment before, 'if they're in hell, they can't be here then, can they? Just more of your tricks. They aren't real.'

'Real enough,' the Reaper warned, as the hanged man crept up, unnoticed, behind Spike and plunged a dagger through his back. Spike yelled out in pain and fell to the floor.

* * *

Between them, Doyle and Cordy had moved the dining table and chairs out of the way so there was a big, clear space on the floor for them to do the ritual and then mopped the floor so it would be clean. They both had an underlying feeling that, when messing around with powerful, interdimensional forces, things like purity - and there not being any crumbs on the floor - mattered. Then they had worked to set up the sacred circle just as the guy in the magic shop had told them.

Cordelia read the instructions out, and Doyle took the lead on the preparations. They had agreed, well - Cordelia had, that he should take the lead on summoning the dead soul of their Roishnik demon, as he was partially psychic and therefore more naturally attuned to these sorts of things.

'I'm not sure that's true, princess,' he had tried to tell her. 'I've got the pure sight, but that's from The Powers. They play messages in my head. It's not the same as bein' able to see the future, the way some human seers can.'

'Well, it's more than I've got - so you're taking point, vision boy.' She finished painting the symbol on the floor and then stood up, brushing her hands clean against her pants, and stepped back so Doyle could get pouring the sand.

Carefully, he picked up the jar containing the sand and then stood on the symbol. He turned around in a circle, upending the jar and allowing the sand to spill out counter clockwise. Then he stepped out of the newly formed sacred space, ensuring to lift his feet high over the line of sand and so not risk smudging it. Cordy passed him the eight white candles and he knelt down and placed them equidistant around the circle.

As neither of them smoked, they hadn't had a lighter, but Cordelia unearthed the one ancient box of matches they had from the back of the drawer under the kitchen counter. 'You know we should probably get more of those in,' she said thoughtfully, as Doyle struck the match and waited with bated breath to see if it would light and if the flame would hold, 'if we're going to be doing magic as a regular thing.'

'Yeah…' he said absently as he lit the candle placed in the 12 position and then moved onto the next one and then the next. The flame on the match began to burn perilously close to his fingers and he shook it out and dropped it. He took another one from the box and struck it, continuing around the circle until all the candles were lit.

They sat down, cross legged, on the floor then - across the circle form each other. 'You ready?' Cordelia asked. Doyle nodded, 'uh - remember what that guy said, though,' he warned, 'things might get … ugly. But if we wanna talk to our dermon guy - we gotta keep goin', no matter what.'

'I just hope you don't end up choking on a python.'

'Me too,' he looked a bit queasy at the prospect. But then he shook his head, cleared his throat and, in his most determined voice, began to read out the opening incantation of the ritual. 'Osiris, Keeper of the gate, hear our prayer. Release to us the soul of …' a wind picked up inside the room - and all the lightbulbs simultaneous blew, leaving them in darkness. Cordelia yelped and jumped, but Doyle took a deep breath and carried on chanting. '...the soul of M'hatmik of the Roishnik clan, who is recently crossed over…'

The flames on the candles suddenly shot upwards, like Bunsen burners whose gas supply had been increased, and the mirror hanging on the wall shattered - sending shards of glass flying through the air towards them. They both raised their hands to protect against the flying fragments and screwed their eyes tight shut, but Doyle kept on speaking. 'Let him stand in the circle we have prepared, let him speak with the living once more.'

There was a moment of quiet - and then came the sound of a distant rushing noise. It was like hearing Niagara falls from a few miles away. They frowned at each other, in the darkness. 'What is that?' Doyle asked - and then the bathroom door burst open and a tidal wave of water, flowing from the bath and the faucet, crashed out in a surging, blue ribbon and engulfed them.

'What do we do?' Doyle yelled as the water smashed against them and the wind howled round their ears.

'Keep chanting,' Cordelia shouted back - straining her voice to be heard over the ongoing storm. Her hair was whipping violently in the wind and her eyes were still screwed to tight shut. 'Start at the beginning again!'

Doyle took a deep breath and - trying to ignore the water sloshing around them, like they were on a sinking ship, and the screaming of the wind - began to chant once more. 'Osiris, Keeper of the gate, hear our prayer...'

* * *

Angel, Wes and Gunn walked into Fred's office only to find her kneeling right up against the large, plate glass window, her nose pressed against it, scribbling formula onto the glass. Other windows had had similar treatment, as had her board and some of the walls. Wesley frowned when he saw her, 'that's never good.'

She stopped what she was doing and looked around - and saw them all staring, concerned, at her writing on every surface she could lay her hands on. 'Oh. no,' she told them, understanding what it was they were thinking. 'I just ran out of whiteboard. I'm not crazy. Again.'

'Just scary smart,' Gunn smiled fondly.

Angel was staring around at all the equations and formulas. They meant nothing to him - looking like nothing so much as a crazy demonic language with an over reliance on numbers - but he knew that to Fred this was all as plain as simple English. It was her super power. He could beat up the bad guys, she could do … this. 'You really think this will bring Spike back?' he asked her.

She shrugged, modestly. 'Well, I had to extrapolate a new variation on interdimensional plasma dynamics on the fly, but … if the math holds…'

To Angel, her words were as foreign and meaningless as her written formulas. 'All right,' he interrupted her. 'First we'll get Spike back. Then we'll deal with Pavayne.'

But it wasn't going to be as easy as all that. In order for this to work, they were going to need a massive surge of dark energy to catalyse the process. Bringing Spike back was going to require the equivalent of nuclear evil.

'Where the hell are we supposed to find that?' Angel asked.

'There is a legend,' Wesley said, slowly, 'that tells of a volcano deep in the forbidden jungles of South Africa…'

'Or… I might know a place a little closer to home,' Gunn cut him off.

* * *

Angel stood in the whiteroom and glanced nervously around. It was a long time since he'd been here - not since The Beast had killed the previous conduit, the creepy little girl in the Mary Janes - the one who had lent him the power to bring Connor home but in doing so had trapped him in service to Wolfram and Hart for good. She had asked him if he was prepared to pay the price. At the time, it had all seemed so distant, the day they would make good on his promise. But now here he was - less than two years later - owned completely, lock stock and barrel by The Senior Partners and Wolfram and Hart. Being back here … well, it made him nervous. He didn't know what he would be asked to give up this time - and if he would be prepared to pay the price. For Spike.

'So this is your brainstorm?' he asked Gunn, who stood beside him. 'You want to snip off a part of the conduit that connects Wolfram and Hart to the other dimensions?'

'"Want" may be a hair strong,' Gunn corrected him.

'The last one took the form of that creepy little girl,' Angel said. He remembered her red dress and the way she had complimented Lilah's red nails. The little girl had liked red - and said that was something she shared in common with Angel. He shuddered. 'There's no telling what the new one's decided to look like.'

'Actually it's not that bad.' There was a distant roar '...if you like cats,' Gunn finished up.

'More of a dog person.' The roar came again - closer and angrier.

'Ixnay on the ogday,' Gunn said to him. Angel looked even more uncomfortable and shuffled his feet. He still couldn't see anything, besides the glaring white of the massive, empty space, and he felt both nervous and foolish as he called out to speak with the conduit. 'Um - look, we're not here to ruffle anything,' he called out. He lifted a glass flask and shook it. 'We were just wondering if we could maybe borrow a couple of whiskers or…'

This time the unseen animal snarled - sounding furious. Gunn grabbed the flask out of Angel's hand and then looked around the room, calling out. 'Whoa - hey, easy. It's me. Charles Gunn. You know I wouldn't be here if the situation wasn't heavy. Just asking for a little help. Me to you. Personal favour. What do you say?'

The growl this time was much softer, far less angry, far less menacing. And then a black panther materialised from nowhere, padding towards them on velvet paws. Gunn smiled, 'yeah.' The big cat came to a stop in front of him and purred, he grinned down at it. 'Who's a good kitty?' he said, and reached out to pet the panther - as Angel watched him with an expression of consternation etched on his face.

* * *

'Let him stand in the circle we have prepared,' Doyle was now shouting his words over the howling wind, 'let him speak to the living once more.' Cordelia was up on her feet , dancing from foot to foot and squealing as a swarm of rats surged across the floor towards them, their fur slick and greasy, like a writhing, wriggling wave coming into shore. She swung out with an axe and bashed at them - trying to squish as many as she could and send the rest scuttling backwards, trying to make sure they didn't manage to swarm their way over to Doyle and stop him from completing the ritual. There was no way he would be able to sit still and continue chanting if a river of rats ran across him … and so Cordy, with her nose screwed up in disgust and trying desperately not to let her feet touch any of them, stood between her boyfriend and the vermin, trying to protect him from them.

She closed her eyes and swung out even more wildly with her weapon, hearing the squeaking screams and the disgusting squelching as she whacked them. Doyle started up his chant once more. 'Osiris, keeper of the gate…' Cordelia swung her axe again - but this time felt the blade suddenly stick into the wood of the floor, she opened her eyes. 'They're gone,' she cried out in delight - and it was true, there were no more rats, even the dead ones had vanished as if they had never been, 'the rats are gone…'

'Hear our prayer…'

There was another blast of wind - and Cordelia was picked up as if by an invisible force, hurled across the room and slammed against the opposite wall. She fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, groaning.

'Cordelia!' Doyle broke off his prayer and stared, wide eyed and worried, at where his girlfriend was collapsed. He started to get to his feet - to go to her side. But she picked herself up. 'I'm fine,' she called across to him, 'keep going. We can't let any of this stop us.' She rubbed her aching shoulder and rolled her head to try and shake out her muscles. 'We mustn't get …' there came the sound of a distant roar, and she picked up her axe again and gripped it tightly, looking wary, '...distracted,' she finished up.

'Release to us the soul of M'hatmik,' Doyle intoned - as Cordelia raised her weapon and prowled the room, waiting for the next threat.

* * *

Spike was curled up on the cold basement floor, in the fetal position, still naked and now shuddering in pain. 'Disappointing,' the Reaper said, staring down at the broken vampire, and noting how easy he had been to break. 'I expected more from the soul of vampire. Too much conscience, perhaps, weighing it down.'

Spike cringed away from him. Above his head, a portal opened up - tearing the air. It was black and slick, like oil - and there was a gaping, howling hole in the centre, ready to swallow Spike's soul and send him to hell. Black tendrils snaked out from the edges of the gateway, like tentacles - like arms. Like this was a living thing reaching out, ready to pull him inside. They snaked closer towards the cowering Spike.

The Reaper watched on, in delight. 'Look…' his hollow voice crooned, 'hell knows you're ready, plump and ripe.' There was a sickening, lascivious joy to the way he spoke - a madness that betrayed his pleasure, almost physical, at the thought of a damned soul being taken to hell. 'Beginning to understand, aren't you?' he asked, smiling his broken toothed smile. 'The soul that blesses you … damns you to suffer. Forever.'

And Spike had a sudden vision - just a flash of awareness - of himself screaming in agony in hell, being tortured for all eternity. He curled up tighter, cringing further away from the portal.

The Reaper crouched down next to him and gripped his hair in his fingers, pulling Spike's head up so he was looking at the gateway that opened for him. 'You go now, William,' the Reaper hissed in his ear, 'so I can stay.'


	17. Hell Bound: Part Four

_Part Four_

The wind was whirling and whipping through the apartment now - and anything small enough: mail and coasters, photographs, ornaments and discarded socks were flying through the air. Doyle was still shouting over the howling, his throat was sore but he yelled on - trying to make himself heard - trying to summon the soul of the Roishnik demon.

But there was more than just an internal hurricane to fight. The growling had got louder and louder and now Cordelia had her axe gripped her in her hand and was battling against an 8 foot horned demon with purple skin and vicious looking fangs. It swiped out at her with one of its claws and she yelped and jumped backwards. It swiped out again and this time she hit the deck and rolled across the floor, springing to her feet behind it and slashing her axe at its exposed neck. But it turned too quickly and grabbed hold of the blade midair.

There was a tussle as both the slayer and the demon held onto the axe handle and tried to wrench it away from their opponent. But they were too equally matched and - losing patience - Cordy snapped her leg upwards and booted the demon right between his legs. It groaned and doubled over and she slammed her fist down on the back of its neck. It dropped to the floor. But, as it did, it reached out and grabbed her around the knees - bringing her crashing down as well. The axe flew from her hand and slid across the room. She lashed out with her foot to kick the demon in the face and then tried to frantically scrabble across the floor to regain her weapon.

Keeping a wary eye on Cordelia - not wanting to break the spell but equally unwilling to leave her to it, if it looked like she might lose - Doyle continued his chant. 'Osiris, Keeper of the gate…'

* * *

The portal continued to shriek and swirl, it's oily black tendrils reaching out - almost touching Spike's bare skin, now. The Reaper still had his fingers twisted into Spike's hair - and was holding his head up, forcing him to stare down the gateway to hell. 'Yes, squirm, boy,' the Reaper said to him, in his hollow whisper of a voice, right in Spike's ear. 'It won't make a difference. Getting what you deserve.'

Spike struggled underneath his grasp. 'You're right,' he choked out, 'I do deserve to go to hell,' he knocked the Reaper away from himself and got to his feet, staring him down. 'But not today.'

'You dare!' the Reaper stared up at him in anger.

'Quite a bit, mate,' he glared down at his tormentor - and behind him the whirling portal closed shut, the air knitting back together. 'Reality bends desire,' Spike repeated from earlier - it suddenly all making sense to him, suddenly understanding where the Reaper's power came from. 'That was it, right? That's why I could touch Fred. Write your name in the glass. All I had to do was _want_ it bad enough.' He looked down at his naked body and concentrated - focusing his will - and sure enough, his clothes reappeared - covering him once more. He looked back up at the Reaper in angry triumph. 'And guess what I want to do now you _prissy_ son of a bitch?'

He grabbed the Reaper by his shirt front, yanking him back up to his feet, and then swung his spare fist backward - before burying it in his tormentor's face - sending him flying through the wall. He followed him through and now they were out of the basement and back upstairs. Spike's will had moved them out of the Reaper's domain and taken them back up to friendlier ground.

'Keen little racket you've got carved out for yourself,' Spike said, striding over to where the Reaper was sprawled out on the floor. 'Prying off spirits and sucking them down the chute. Kept your own toasties out of the fire, didn't it? Until now!' He reached down and grabbed at the Reaper's shirt front again, hauling him upwards and then hitting him once more.

The Reaper tried to fight back - but he was not used to this - and his movements were uncoordinated, he had no skill at hand to hand combat and he struggled against the delighted, enthusiastic beating that William the Bloody, slayer of slayers, was meting out. 'Not so much fun when we hit back, is it?' Spike crowed - knocking the Reaper back again.

But by now the dark soul had had time to adjust. Reality bent to his will - so if he wanted to beat this vampire soul, then all he needed to do was _want _it. He hit back, much stronger and more powerfully than before, and this time it was Spike who was knocked to the ground. 'Starting to be,' the Reaper smiled, showing his broken and yellowing teeth.

* * *

Cordy had managed to wriggle loose from the grip of the demon. She turned back and kicked out again - her foot connected squarely with the demon's face - and then she scrambled back to her feet, and pulled a sword from a bracket on the wall. She shifted her balance and took point, ready for the next attack.

But the demon did not lunge towards her. It was not here to fight a slayer - it was here as a guardian of the underworld, its target was not the girl - but the man trying to pierce through Osiris' veil. Instead of the attack she was waiting for - the demon turned from her and lumbered towards where Doyle was still sat, in the middle of a whirlwind, trying to summon a dead soul. It reached its arms towards the half demon and growled.

'Oh sh-' Cordelia threw her sword to the side and chased after it. Doyle's eyes grew wide as he watched the monster come charging straight at him. He had no weapons, and was not even on his feet. He was completely vulnerable to attack and - even if he managed to crawl to safety - the charging demon would smash through the sacred circle and destroy the spell. He stayed where he was - continuing his chant, but as the demon got closer, he screwed up his eyes and turned his head, slightly, bracing for the impact of the attack.

It never came. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that Cordy had caught up with the demon, grabbed it round the middle and rugby tackled it to the side. They rolled over and over - a mad blur of whirling fists and feet and fangs, and then Cordy landed on top and, straddling the demon's torso, started to punch it repeatedly in the face with all her might. It roared out, as blow after blow rained down on its face - each one with the force as if she were wearing a glove made of iron. 'Don't you dare,' she yelled at the demon as she smacked him over and over again. 'You fight me, you hear? _Me!_'

Doyle's eyes lingered on the sight of his girlfriend beating the gigantic demon to a bloody pulp, as he took great gasping lungfuls of air - getting his breath back after his near toast experience. But then he dragged his gaze away and concentrated back on the sacred circle and the light of the candles, still miraculously burning - even in the whirlwind, and doubled down on his chanting.

* * *

The floor of the lab had been cleared to make space - and now there was an elaborate machine, half mechanical, half mystical, laid out. It took the form of a circle - and there were strange symbols carved into the metal, speaking to the magic that this device was designed for. But at the same time, wires snaked from it, plugging it into the electrical outlets - belying the fact that this ritual was as deeply rooted in science as it was in the realm of the otherworldly.

Fred and Wesley were working to put all the pieces together. They worked quietly, Fred overseeing the placement of all the different segments. Nothing like this had ever been built before. Nothing like this had ever been attempted - as far as they knew. But as long as her math held - and it always did, math never let her down - she was reasonably confident this would work.

Gunn and Angel walked in, returning from the whiteroom. Gunn was carrying the glass flask. 'Make sure it's calibrated to .058,' Fred was saying to Wesley, she turned to look at the newly entered men. 'Did you get it?'

Gunn handed the flask over. It was half filled with what looked like a thick, dark liquid. 'Make it count,' he told her. 'Told me we aint getting any more.'

Angel frowned. 'It talked?' he asked 'I didn't hear it talk.' But Gunn only shrugged, 'maybe you weren't listening right.'

Fred, meanwhile, was placing the flask into position in the machine. This was the catalyst that would create the energy surge needed to recorporealise Spike - and she handled it with care, making sure it was properly positioned. 'All right,' she looked around at her friends, 'I think we're almost ready.'

'How do we let Spike know?' Angel asked.

'Won't need to,' Wesley said. He was stood at the controls and was just waiting for the nod from Fred to fire up this thing.

Fred pulled down a lever and then connected the final wire to the energy supply. 'This baby puts out enough juice to light up ghost city. Anything remotely spectral round here is about to get the tinglies.'

* * *

They were in the lobby now - the fight still ongoing. The Reaper had learned - too quickly - how to beat Spike. His own will was so ironclad, so strong, after so many centuries ruling this shadow land, that it had taken but mere moments for him to adjust to the fact that another dark soul had learned the rules. He kicked Spike across the wide open space, and the vampire landed heavily on the floor, groaning.

'Learned a few of my tricks,' he said, in his dark, rasping voice. 'Means nothing does it? I've cheated hell for hundreds of years. Fed it other dirty little souls. Left me alone.' He strode over to where Spike was lying on his back. 'Let me get stronger. Now, this realm … I am God. And you,' he reached down and pulled Spike up by his collar - so that the vampire was dangling mid air. 'Wood for the fire.'

As they stared face to face, each waiting for the next blow - both sure it would come from the Reaper, they were suddenly hit by a sudden burst of energy. It was like a blue wave, rippling through the air and then bursting over them like a storm cloud. They both felt it - and the Reaper turned away, his dark ringed eyes concerned and angry.

Spike - still dangling mid air - took this opportunity to get a hit in. He punched the Reaper hard in the face and dropped to the floor - before running off in the direction of the lab. The Reaper stared after him. 'This won't do,' he rasped. 'This won't do at all.'

* * *

The machine was now lit up and flashing and beeping. The team gathered around it, waiting expectantly. Fred read from her scanner and saw the reading change as a spectral presence entered the lab. 'He's here,' she called out to the others over the noise of the machine. But to the naked eye there was still no sign of him - she just had to trust that he could hear her. 'Spike, step into the circle!' she cried, 'Hurry! We've only got one chance at making you corporeal agai-'

She was suddenly cut off and began to choke. She brought her hand up to her throat, where she could feel the tight grip of a fist wrapped around her windpipe. Her face began to turn red and then purple as her oxygen supply was cut off. But there was still no visible sign of anything ghostly.

Safely hidden in his shadow realm, Pavayne had his hand wrapped around her throat. 'Now whyever would I want to do that?' he asked her.

Although the men could not see what was choking Fred - they could guess well enough. 'It's Pavayne!' Wesley yelled. 'He's killing her!' they all rushed forward to try and save her - but the Reaper lashed out with his spare hand and knocked them all flying across the room.

Spike materialised in the lab - still invisible to the team, he alone could see the full extent of the situation. The Reaper choking Fred slowly to death and the men unable to save her. He stared down at that machine, as it whirred and flashed and built its way towards full power. Then he looked back at Fred.

The Reaper smiled his broken toothed grin. 'Decisions,' he said to Spike. 'The girl…' he squeezed her throat tighter, 'or the flesh…' he glanced down at the machine. 'There's no time for both.'

Spike followed his gaze and stared at the mystical circle - it was ramping up, clearly ready to discharge its magic. There was only this one moment - and then he would have missed his chance for good. The Reaper watched him hesitate and grinned more broadly. 'There's hope for you yet, boy.'

'Not really.' Spike had disappeared from the side of the machine and then rematerialised right beside the Reaper. He punched him with all his might, knocking him away from Fred - who took great gasping lungfuls of air, in relief - and then straight into the mystical circle.

As Pavayne fell inside the ring, it activated - a blue force field snapping over the top, encasing him inside and then hitting him with the full blast of the energy charge.

The team watched on as a shape appeared inside the circle, becoming visible. But after a moment, it was clear this dark figure was not Spike. Pavayne got to his feet snarling and snapping like a cornered cur. 'No. No!' he stared down at his corporeal body. 'Defilers! I'll … cut you into nothing. I'll feast on your brains. I'll swim in lakes of your blood.'

Angel punched him - and he hit the floor. 'You'll shut the hell up,' the vampire said.

Reality bent to his will - Spike willed himself to become visible for the team again. 'Don't kill him!' he said, urgently. They all looked surprised as he materialised from thin air. 'If he becomes a spirit again, we'll never stop him,' he warned.

'Fine,' Angel punched Pavayne again. 'No killing. Just a whole lot of bruisin'.'

* * *

The demon roared under the onslaught of Cordelia's punches and brought up its arms, grabbing her around the midsection and then using its far greater weight to roll her off him and then land on top of her - so it was now her pinned beneath its bulk - and at the mercy of its fists.

'Cordelia!' Doyle yelled from over by the sacred circle.

'Keep chanting!' she yelled back, catching the demon's fist as it swung towards her and forcing it backwards, digging her nails in as hard as she could. 'Nghh,' she threw its arm away from her and then shoved her hands into its face, trying to push it away from herself - grunting and squirming underneath it.

It roared out again and pulled back to strike another blow - but she took that moment to roll out from beneath it. Before it could react she had jumped to her feet, somersaulted through the air, landing behind it - and grabbed it by the neck with both hands. She twisted - and heard the bones snap. The demon went loose in her grasp, it's whole body collapsing like jelly now its spinal cord was snapped. She dropped it to the floor - and it melted away, running into a purple puddle and then seeping into the floor.

At the same moment the shrieking, deafening whirlwind dropped - and all the sundry items caught up in its path fell to the ground, the breakable ones smashing on the floor. Doyle finished his chant for what seemed like the hundredth time - and this time the sacred circle was suddenly filled with a dazzling column of white light.

Cordelia went and crouched by his side. 'You did it,' she said, 'you broke through the gateway, you actually did it.' She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. He laughed, 'we're not done yet,' he said - as the light began to shimmer and take on a humanoid form, 'that was just the pre show. Now for the main event.'

The light coalesced into the figure of what was unmistakably their Roishnik demon, though he was misty and transparent and a little blurry around the edges. Cordelia raised her hand to her eyes to try and shield them from the light. The dead demon stared down at the young couple on the floor. 'Why am I here?' he asked.

'M'hatmik, right? Of the Roishnik clan?' Doyle asked him, he took a deep breath, 'listen, bud…'

'I was in darkness - and now I am here,' the demon said.

'Yeah - well, we called you back to the land o' the livin'. We have a few questions about how y' died, y'see.'

'I have fallen beyond the veil.'

Cordelia sighed, impatiently, 'yes- we get it. You're dead. We already knew that. We just wanna find out how you got that way. So we can stop it from happening to anyone else.'

'Dead - yes… I remember now,' M'hatmik said vaguely. Cordelia frowned. 'Is it me or is he getting more see through?' she hissed at Doyle, who had to admit, the spirit of the dead Roishnik did appear to be fading already. 'The guy at the magic shop said we wouldn't have much time,' he told her. 'We don't have the power to keep him here.' He turned back to the spirit inside the circle, 'listen, bud - we're real sorry about you bein' dead and all - we wanted to save y'. But we gotta ask - who was it that did this to you?'

M'hatmik just stared down at them.

'Don't you remember?' Cordelia asked, sounding concerned.

'I remember,' the demon said, 'though I do not wish to do so.'

'You told our friend, the medium, you said you knew the people that did this to y',' Doyle said, 'you said you recognised 'em.'

'I knew them,' M'hatmik nodded - his outline was growing fainter the whole time, and his voice sounded hollow - like it was coming from the bottom of a very deep and distant well. 'I know the army they fight for.'

Doyle and Cordy glanced at each other, uncomfortably. 'Army?' Cordy asked, 'what army?'

'I was killed by one soldier, but one of thousands. And where he came from there are thousands more. Always more. And they will keep coming. Keep coming until there are no more left.'

'No more what left?' Doyle asked. 'What army are you talkin' about?'

M'hatmik opened his mouth to answer - but no sound came out. It was as if he were now too distant for his voice to be heard at all. He faded - becoming even more transparent, his outline blurring until his shape was barely defined. 'No - wait!' Cordelia cried, as she realised they were losing him, 'we need to know - what army? Come back!'

But it was no good - the Roishnik demon became more and more indistinct, until there was nothing left but the column of light again and then that too was gone.

'Thank you Osiris, take this soul back to your realm and may he dwell in peace there,' Doyle muttered the closing incantation and blew the candles out, leaving them in complete darkness.

...

They were too downcast to bother clearing away the mess their attempts at breaking through to the underworld had caused. Instead, they just stripped off their clothes and crawled under the bed covers. 'Why couldn't he just answer the question?' Cordelia asked, quietly.

'Roishnik demons,' Doyle said to her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to him. 'They always talk in riddles. You never can get a straight answer from them.' She lay her head on his chest and sighed. He squinted down at her in the darkness, 'are you OK?' he asked her.

'I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?'

'I dunno - you got slammed around there pretty bad by that whirlwind. And then you had to fight off rats…' he felt her shudder in his arms, 'and that big, purple demon thing.'

'It's my job,' she shrugged, she tickled the skin of his chest with her index finger and tilted her head so she could look up at him, 'what about you? You just channelled big energy right through yourself. Are you OK?'

'Well - I can't say I wouldn't be better if we had got the answers we were lookin' for…'

She smiled, grimly. 'You and me both.'

'But I don't think I did any lastin' damage.'

'That's good … so what now?'

He held her tighter and began to gently brush through her hair with his fingers, he felt her body relax and the way she snuggled closer to him as he did it. He stared up at the dark ceiling, blankly. He didn't know what now. They were back to waiting for another murder - or hoping that this time The Powers would see fit to send him a vision _before_ it was too late. 'Why d'ya think they bothered to send it when he was already dead?' he asked Cordelia, 'why not send it half an hour before - we couldda saved him.'

'Maybe the PTB didn't want you to save this one,' she suggested. 'Maybe they just wanted you to know - make sure you were paying attention.'

'I've been payin' attention for weeks now. I'm beyond the discovery stage - it's time to actually know what's goin' on.'

'I guess maybe it isn't,' she told him. 'Maybe it's not time yet, they just wanna make sure we're both prepared - for when it is time.'

'Well… that doesn't bode well.'

'Nope.' she pulled herself up and leaned up to kiss him. 'But we've been through the end of the world a gazillion times already. Whatever this is - we'll be ready for it. And we'll take it down.'

She snuggled back down, so her head was resting against his shoulder and, a few minutes later, the sound of her heavy, regular breathing told Doyle that she had drifted off to sleep.

But slumber was to prove more elusive for him - as he stared wide awake into the darkness. When The Powers sent him visions of terrible things that had already happened - it was invariably because they were using the pure sight to punish him, because what had happened was his fault in some way - and they wanted him to know, to see and to feel the damage he had done. He couldn't work this out. He couldn't see how these deaths were about him - how The Powers were laying them at his door - but it seemed that they were. And so he couldn't sleep for worrying.

* * *

The next morning, Cordelia tidied away the mess from the night before; sweeping up the sand and the debris of the broken ornaments and shattered mirrors, collecting in the candles and putting all the furniture right. It was a good job she had keen eyesight and the help of a couple of table lamps - as all the light fittings had blown during the ritual - and there was no natural light down in the bat cave.

She heard footsteps on the stairs - Doyle returning from the hardware store, where he had gone to buy replacement light bulbs. He came into the apartment, bulbs in one hand and his pile of mail in the other. He was looking troubled.

'What's wrong?' Cordy asked him, seeing his expression. He dumped most of the stuff on the dining table and then held up one, very official looking, envelope. 'It's from the department of immigration,' he told her.

She felt her stomach plummet inside of her, like she'd just fallen down an elevator shaft. Doyle had been in her life for so long now that she normally barely remembered he was foreign. She didn't even hear his accent any more. It always just felt so right him being here - he completely belonged here just as much as she did … and now here was a reminder that this just wasn't true. Cordelia had had her run ins with branches of government before - she would never forget the day the IRS came - but she would never, _ever_ get a letter from the immigration department. But Doyle would - he just had - because apparently, no matter how much he belonged in her life, by her side - the U.S government did not necessarily think he belonged in the country. 'What's it say?' she asked, trying to keep the note of fear from creeping into her voice.

He sat down on the sofa and ripped the envelope open, shaking out the letter and then reading it. His lips moved as his mind read and digested the various long and official sounding words.

She stared down at him, anxiously - holding her breath as she waited. He got to the end and then looked back up at her. 'My green card,' he told her, 'it's gonna expire in a little over six months.'

'So … you just apply for a new one.'

He sighed, 'it's not as easy as that, darlin'. I got my green card when I was married to Harri. I had a proper job - an employer. A steady income. Now … I'm divorced, I'm self employed - and completely broke and…' he sighed again. 'I've been in trouble with the police.' He closed his eyes and remembered that terrifying weekend in jail, then the months of waiting on bail, followed by his trial.

'You were found Not Guilty,' Cordelia insisted.

'Doesn't matter - I can hardly claim to be o' good character when I've been arrested for grand theft auto … and bank robbery, can I?' he looked back at the letter. 'They're not gonna renew it. I know it.'

'Do they say that?'

'No … this is just a … friendly reminder that I need to sort the paperwork, if I don't wanna get deported at the end o' May.'

'Right - so … you can at least try.'

He smiled - though it didn't reach his eyes and Cordy knew he was only smiling to try not to worry her. 'Yeah - I can try. I'll speak to an immigration lawyer, see what they say - look at what my options are… or…' His expression lightened and his brow unfurrowed a little as another thought struck him. 'Maybe I can get Gunn to look at this? He's a legal whizz now - maybe he can just cut right through the red tape for me.'

'No,' Cordelia shook her head.

'No? Just like that?'

'Yes - just like that. He works for Wolfram and Hart. If you ask him to do this favour for you then … Wolfram and Hart owns you. They've tried - and failed - to buy you enough times over the years without you just handing yourself over to them when the paperwork gets too tough. We'll find another way.'

He raised an eyebrow, 'you got any other ideas?' he asked.

'Yep.' She sat down next to him on the sofa and put her hand on his knee, 'we'll just have to get married.'

He threw back his head and burst out laughing. 'What?' Cordelia demanded, looking offended.

'Nothin', darlin', it's just …' he broke off to chuckle some more, 'I didn't think it could ever be possible - but that was even less romantic than the last time we got engaged!'

Her offended expression twitched a little - and she too began to smile - and then laugh. 'But I'm right,' she said. 'They won't deport you if you're married to an American citizen. It makes sense. Legally - plus it makes financial sense.'

'I love it when you talk dirty,' he murmured to her, leaning in for a kiss, 'tell me again about that tax break we'll get.'

She shoved him away from her, laughing. 'I'm serious!'

'Me too - just whisper the words "power of attorney" - just once, Cordy. Say 'em.'

'You can joke all you like,' she told him, trying to pull her mouth into a serious expression of disapproval. 'But we just don't need all that sappy romance stuff. Make me yak! We have something much better.'

'Is it a 50/50 split of all our personal assets?' He was still laughing.

'No,' she giggled, and this time it was she who leaned in for the kiss. 'We have the real deal, once in a lifetime type, true love.'

* * *

Over at Wolfram and Hart, the team were tidying up the debris from their previous night's adventure, as well. The lab was a mess, and the whole machine needed to be dismantled. Fred looked around and sighed.

'You sure you're alright?' Wesley asked her. She sighed again. 'Yeah … it's just … you know.' She didn't know how to put it into words: the disappointment, the lost opportunity, the sense that she had failed - even though her machine had worked.

'Why don't you take a break?' Gunn said to her, softly, watching the emotions pass across her face. 'We can finish up here.'

'Thanks.' She left the pair of them to it, and headed up to her office.

...

Once inside, she leaned against her desk and looked through her notes. It had worked - her math had held, but still she had failed. She had failed Spike - and that made her heart hurt.

'Don't suppose you built a spare?'

She looked up - he had materialised beside her. She smiled sadly and shook her head. 'Most of the pieces I used on this one were practically non-existent to start with. Even if I could replace them, the chances of finding another power source are…' she shook her head once more. 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be,' he said to her. She looked up at him in surprise. But he only shrugged and leaned against the desk, beside her. 'I made my choice,' he said. 'Wouldn't change it for the world.'

'There are other things we could try,' she suggested, 'they're a little riskier but…'

But he cut her off. He wasn't going to end up like Pavayne - cheating hell anyway he could, no matter who it hurt.

'Just proves what I've been telling everybody,' Fred said, smiling sadly.

'That I'm a handsome devil who brightens the place up?'

She looked at him, 'that you're worth saving.' He smiled back. He didn't have it so bad really. There was plenty of room, and good company - he gave Fred a nudge. Plus he'd picked up some nifty little tricks along the way. He concentrated his entire will onto her coffee mug and picked it up. She laughed - and he smiled at her. 'There are worse things than being a ghost,' he told her.

* * *

Lilah and Angel were down in the Wolfram and Hart basement. They had Pavayne locked in a holding cell. It was only a few feet wide and he was strapped inside with metal bars. 'Are you sure it'll hold him?' Angel asked.

Lilah smiled, devilishly. 'If there's one thing Wolfram and Hart excels at, it's keeping their unmentionables unmentioned.'

Angel smiled sourly at Pavayne, 'congratulations,' he said to the restrained serial killer, 'you get to live forever. Unable to move or to touch or to feel … or to affect anything in the world around you.'

Pavayne stared straight ahead unable to move his head, he could only look in one direction. His eyes were wide open - mad and staring, but who knew if he was actually seeing anything.

'Don't worry,' Angel said to him, 'I had them put in a window.' He slammed the metal door shut on the Reaper and then slid back the little window - a brick sized slit in the door, right at eye height. Pavayne's mad eyes stared straight back out, wide open, frozen and glistening - able to view nothing but the empty, dark corridor directly ahead of him.

Angel smiled through the window - and then he and Lilah turned to walk away, speaking one last time as he left Pavayne alone in the dark. 'Welcome to hell.'

* * *

**A/N Next episode is 'Life of the Party'. **


	18. Life of the Party: Part One

**Life of the Party**

_Part One_

Angel stood on the rooftop and looked out at the sparkling carpet of lights spread out below him. As always, when he was high up and far away from the crowds, he was swept up in an inner sense of calm. A feeling of peace and grace that he never knew when he was down there, in the human world. A feeling of serenity that he knew he didn't really deserve. But he needed it - craved it - after all these weeks trapped in the offices of Wolfram and Hart, doing The Senior Partners bidding, so here he was.

He heard the access door creak open behind him. He didn't bother to look around. He knew who it would be. 'You know, bud…' he closed his eyes and smiled as he heard the familiar voice, 'some might consider it a wee bit rude to come and stand on a fella's roof and not even tell him that you're here.'

'But you knew I was here anyway,' Angel said, turning to smile at Doyle as the Irishman came to stand beside him. Doyle shrugged, 'dead o' night, empty buildin' … heard a noise on the roof. Figured… so, what brings you here tonight?'

'I just wanted …' he sighed and didn't finish the sentence. He didn't know how to finish it. But Doyle just nodded - he got it. 'You needed space - time away from … everythin'.'

'Yeah…' he glanced around the roof. 'Cordelia not here?' he asked.

'Nah. She was just putting in a quick patrol and then headin' home.'

Angel frowned, wondering why Cordelia would be patrolling by herself - without Doyle… why she'd be patrolling at all if it wasn't for a client or a vision. But he shrugged it off. 'I've got a sweep of my own to do, later,' he said. He held up a small device which looked a bit like a hand grenade. 'I've been given this new little toy to try out. Fred and Wesley … they're building this whole new arsenal of weaponry. Magic and technology mixed. And I get sent out to test it. I need to find something to kill, later.'

'Yeah? I could come with, if you …'

But Angel shook his head. He didn't want Doyle in on a Wolfram and Hart mission - even if he was just tagging along to keep him company. That place corrupted people. His friends - the ones who had accompanied him there - they were changing. Already. Protecting Doyle and Cordy from that seemed more important than ever. 'So Cordy went home?' he said, changing the subject, 'she didn't decide to stay the night?'

It was Doyle's turn to shake his head. 'We're payin' two rents - somethin' we can't really afford at the moment, I don't mind tellin' y'. So… we gotta make sure we're at least gettin' use out of both places.'

'You haven't thought about moving in together?' Angel asked. He tried to keep his voice casual - like it was of no great concern to him if Cordy moved in with another man. She'd made her choice - and Angel had made his back when he signed that contract - and now he had to live with it.

'It's kinda difficult, to tell y' the truth,' Doyle said. He stuck his hands in his pockets and gazed out across the city. 'I get the bat cave along with the office space so, if we were to give up a place…'

'It makes sense for it to be Cordy's,' Angel finished up.

'Exactly. And I don't know how to broach it because … Dennis. She won't wanna leave him.' He shuffled his feet, 'it's gonna be rough, but we're gonna have to talk about it sooner or later…' he cleared his throat. 'We're - uhm - we're gettin' married,' he said. He watched Angel out of the corner of his eye to see how the vampire would take the news.

'That's great,' Angel said - without missing a beat, and ignoring the sudden pang in his chest. 'Hey - congratulations.'

'Yeah - thanks.'

'Seriously - you guys deserve it … well I should probably get going.' His inner sense of calm was well and truly destroyed now. All the twinkling lights and all the height in all the world couldn't push away this sudden feeling of emptiness and sadness.

'You don't have to go yet,' Doyle said to him, 'we could downstairs- have a drink.'

'No - no…' Angel began to stumble backwards from the edge, tripping over his feet as he went, and heading for the access door. 'I got - I got that mission to be getting on with. But hey - we'll celebrate another time.' Doyle watched him go - his eyes were narrowed, but not unsympathetic. He got it - he remembered being in Angel's position last year. Hearing that Cordy was moving on. He knew this news would not exactly be welcome for the vampire - and he didn't blame him. 'Angel…' he started to say.

'I need to be heading … things to kill. And I gotta get back to the office and check on Connor. Everyone else too - tell you the truth. Some of them are starting to act a little crazy…'

* * *

Lorne walked down the corridor, his cell phone glued to his ear. His assistant was trotting beside him, struggling to keep up, and holding all manner of papers to be checked and yet another cell phone. 'It'll be fabulous,' Lorne said into his phone, 'believe me, Jerry, it's The Grapes of Wrath in outer space - it's got heart, it's got laser battles…' he took his sunglasses off. 'It's got a timely message of interstellar poverty. Listen - have your assistant call my assistant, we'll set something up.'

He hung up the phone and threw it at his assistant, before grabbing the other cell from him and jamming that one to his ear. 'J.C, listen,' he fired his words out to the bigshot down the line, 'I've just got off the nextel with big B. He's intrigued - but he wants to know who's gonna play Tom Joad. uhuh… well I'm pretty sure that Henry Fonda's dead, sweetie. Yeah. Bring him back to life?' He cackled. 'Well - lemme talk to my science people … no promises.' He hung up, threw that phone at his assistant and rolled his eyes. 'Directors.'

He arrived at the front desk - and opened his arms wide to Harmony. 'Harmonica!'

'Lorney tunes!'

He raked his eyes over her - she was party ready, in a pink sequined halter dress and a professional blow dry. He grinned - electric and over the top. 'Ohh - the eyes, the hair, the dress - it's no wonder the fourth floor has a crush.'

Harmony giggled. He leaned on the desk and winked at her, 'Hey, tell me, priceless - where do I find Angel?'

She rolled her eyes - he'd just called in, he was returning from a field mission. But she was of the opinion it was better to leave him undisturbed - he had sounded like he was in rather a black mood. Even by his standards.

But Lorne only laughed - slightly high pitched. 'Don't worry, darlin' - I've pulled the big boy out of many a brood fest. It shouldn't be that…' He trailed off as the elevator door opened and Angel walked out, covered in slime.

Angel headed straight to his office - without making eye contact with anybody. Wesley intercepted him on the way, to ask how his new neural-intercepter grenade had worked. Angel came to a stop and held up the device that he had shown to Doyle - only now it was spent. 'It didn't,' he said through gritted teeth. He handed it over to Wesley and sighed deeply. Wes looked troubled. 'Right - I'll take it down to Fred and have her look at it,' he promised. He walked away and Angel began to stump towards his office once again.

Lorne stepped up to talk to him, 'hey Angel heart …' then he twisted to look over his shoulder and shout to Wesley. 'Hey, Wes, if you see Fred can you have her pencil me in for later? I need to talk to her about Henry Fonda's big come back.'

Wesley looked confused, 'alright.' And with that Lorne turned back to Angel. 'Angel, Angel - we have to have a confab. It's _muy importante_.'

But Angel ignored him - and, reaching his office, tried to close the double doors. Lorne stuck his foot out and stopped him. 'Uh, it's about the party? I've done all I can for the big to do - but we've still got a few bugs we need to comb out of the cootie garage…' he saw the look on Angel's face. 'A bridge too far?'

Angel tried to close the office doors again. 'Let me put it another way,' Lorne gabbled quickly, reaching out to stop his boss disappearing once more.

'Look, Lorne,' Angel said to him - a weary note in his voice suggesting his patience was wearing thin. 'I'm beat up. I'm exhausted. I'm covered head to toe in Thraxis blood - which actually kinda burns, so this is all gonna have to wait until I take a shower.' He began to close the door.

'You killed the Thraxis?'

'Shower.' He closed the doors in Lorne's face. The anagogic demon turned to his assistant. 'Hey - maybe we should - uh - scratch the Thraxis off the invite list…' they began to walk away. 'You got a copy of that print ad we're gonna run this week?'

His assistant fished through all the papers he held and then pulled out the one he was looking for, handing it to his boss. Lorne scanned it quickly. 'Wolfram and Hart wants to be up your alley,' he read. 'It sounds like a bus station pick up line. Change it. On second thoughts- burn it ...and grab yourself a bagel or something, you look a little waxy.' He walked off - leaving his assistant standing in the middle of the hallway - and made his way back to his own office.

...

Once inside, he closed the door and sighed deeply. He collapsed in the chair by his vanity mirror, leaned his elbows on the dressing table and pinched the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes and breathed very deeply. Then he let out a groan and started to rub his temples. But he kept his eyes closed - trying to shut everything out.

Inside the vanity mirror, however, his reflection suddenly sat up straight - and stared at the groaning empath demon with a look of concern. 'Ooh - ouch. That is an adult sized bangaroo.'

Lorne just groaned and kept his eyes averted, putting his head in his hands.

'Mr Smiles?'

Lorne groaned again.

'Oh come on, you can't ignore me forever,' his reflection said. Lorne didn't look up. 'Oh well fine,' his reflection pouted, 'looks like you're gonna have to slap a band aid on that melon, draw a grin on that bewitching green mug and go right back out there. On the count of 9, sunshine. 1, 2, 3.'

Lorne finally lifted his head and glared at himself in the mirror. But his reflection just grinned wickedly and kept on counting. 'The show stops for no demon, Lorne. 4, 5…'

Lorne winced.

Inside the mirror, the reflection's tone became more urgent. 'They're all waiting for you 6 … 7 …. They're counting on you … 8.' It had a mocking and unpleasant tone to it, as well. 'Coming up on 9. They're gonna eat you up with a spoon because you're so scrumptious…'

Lorne snapped. 'Shut up!' he screamed at his laughing reflection. He picked up a wine bottle and smashed the mirror - the glass cracked, so that his reflection was now fractured. He groaned again, rubbed his face - glad to have shut up that incessant, chiding little voice - but still not feeling any better. He got to his feet and turned to the door.

'_Don't leave me this way…' _he heard his fractured reflection start to sing, slowly. '_I can't exist, I'll surely miss, your tender kiss so don't leave me this way ohhhhhhh…'_

The note built up - getting louder and more powerful.

'_Baby!' _Lorne burst through his office door with a wide smile slapped on his face, his cell phone glued to his ear once more. He did a spin in the hallway and then marched off down it. '_My heart is full of love and desire for you!'_

* * *

Angel groaned in relief as he felt the warm water rain down over him, washing away the blood and the slime of the Thraxis demon, easing the burning. The steam eased his aching muscles as well. Maybe he should have taken Doyle up on that offer of accompanying him. He could have done with a reliable side kick - that moment when the grenade failed to detonate … someone who could have distracted the Thraxis, allowed himself to get pummelled whilst Angel recovered himself. But as it was, he had been alone - his weapon had failed and he had borne the brunt of the Thraxis' rage, having to take a pounding until he could find the opportunity to wriggle out and gain ground again.

As the last of the slime rinsed away; he groaned, switched off the shower and grabbed a towel, headed back out to his bedroom. He came to a halt when he found Lilah sitting on his bed.

'Lilah - uhm…' he suddenly became aware he was naked, and hurried to wrap the towel around his waist. She grinned devilishly at him, making him feel all wrongfooted and discomfited. 'What .. uhm … how did you get in here?'

'You stood me up,' she said, crossing her long legs and ignoring his question. '_Again_.'

'Uhm…'

'7.30 - we had a meeting. So…' she flashed him another grin, 'are you gonna come like that or…?'

'I'll - uhm - I'll grab my pants.'

* * *

Once he was dressed, they had entered the elevator. Lilah had kept her eyes on him the whole time he was wriggling his still damp body into his clothes. Once the elevator door shut, she looked him up and down. 'So how goes the evil fighting, white hat?'

'You know - OK - I guess.'

'And embracing the bigger picture? The shades of grey? How's that working out?'

'I dunno…' he shuffled his feet. 'I spent years doing everything I could to bring this company down.'

'You cut off my hand.'

'Sorry about that - but, you know - mortal enemies. You were trying to kill Doyle … everything was so simple then. Now … I'm CEO of the very thing I spent the last four years trying to destroy. I'm trying to still do good - fight the good fight - dance around second guessing what it is The Senior Partners want from me and the whole time I'm trying to outsmart them I have to worry about whether or not I'm doing the exact thing that they want me to do all along.'

'Wow - no wonder you're tense.'

'I'm not tense,' he said quickly.

'You're a little bit tense,' she smirked.

He stepped up and glowered into her face. 'I'm not tense.' The bell rang and the door slid open - and revealed a giant, man sized skull just outside. Without thinking, Angel hauled back and punched the skull out - it staggered backwards, on ordinary human legs - and the man carrying the big, foam Halloween decoration collapsed to the floor, groaning. 'Oh, no,' Lilah grinned, 'not tense at all. Nothing to see here.'

Angel stepped out into the lobby, glancing down guiltily at the man he had just thumped, and then looking around at where there were dozens more giant foam skulls, and more decorations besides. The whole lobby was a swarm of activity of people putting up expensive looking Halloween decorations. 'Why does it look like we're having a party in here?' he demanded.

'Well, maybe 'cause we're having a party in here,' Lorne told him, he was coming down the stairs and stood in front of Angel once he reached the lobby. 'The Wolfram and Hart Halloween bash? Ring a bell?' Angel stared at him blankly. 'Only the most important event on the company calendar,' the green demon said sounding exasperated. 'I sent you a small forest's worth of memos on it.'

Angel looked confused, 'we're having it here?'

'That's what our 7:30 was on, champ,' Lilah told him, 'your party.'

'_My_ party?'

Lorne nodded, 'yeah, listen, here's the snaffu in a nutshell, Top Cat. Nobody's coming. Well - some people are coming but not the right people. The right people - the A list people - they seem to be giving it a miss. And if they don't show - the whole thing's gonna be a bust.'

Angel shrugged. 'Good.'

'Good?!' Lorne cried out, incensed. He took a step back and glared at his boss. But Angel only shrugged again. He didn't like parties. And Wolfram and Hart Parties… that guest list would be packed with their clients, right? Their evil clients? Lorne had his head in his hands and was massaging his temples, but Angel didn't seem to notice. He laughed - and glanced at Lilah for support. 'They're not the sort of folks I like to show a good time. I'd be a lot happier if the whole thing just kinda fell through. And then we could go back to…'

He was cut off by a loud mirthless laughter emanating from Lorne's frowning lips. He was still rubbing his head. 'Ha ha ha! OK OK - you're killing me!' His voice was impatient and snappish. 'Can't you just feel up the big picture here Mr. Magoo. It's not about good and evil It's about party. Starts with a P - rhymes with me…' he was yelling now, Angel was looking taken aback. 'About to have a stroke because you're _killing me!_' He took a deep breath and when he started talking again, his voice was calmer. 'Listen - I can see that you're in a state - a mood - a snit even.'

Angel was still looking startled. Lorne plucked a large, silk, black rose from a passing decorator and tucked it beneath Angel's arm. 'So what say we talk about this once you've calmed down a bit?'

'Yeah - sure - fine,' Angel said to him, a little unnerved.

'Great,' Lorne walked away, 'your office, 25 minutes.' Angel stared after him. Another decorator plucked the flower from under his arm and walked off with it. Angel stared around the lobby … wondering what exactly the hell was happening - and why it was happening to him.

* * *

'Have you got all the documents we need?' Cordelia asked.

'It's a bit late now if I haven't,' Doyle smiled across at her, he leaned in for a kiss. They were just arriving at city hall - ready to apply for their marriage license - and Cordy had to admit that she had butterflies. She'd made Doyle check he had his social security number with him like a dozen times already. She stared up at the building.

'You sure you wanna do this?' he asked her, watching her face closely.

'Yeah - yes. Definitely.' She smiled her biggest thousand kilowatt smile at him and squeezed his hand. 'It's just…' she took a deep breath. 'I've never done this before. I don't know what to expect.'

'It's nothin' to worry about,' he assured her. 'Fill in a few forms- quick interview and then …' his face fell.

'What?' she asked, 'what is it?'

'Blood test,' he told her. 'When you apply for a marriage license here - they make you take a blood test.'

'So?'

'So … I - uh - I don't have … you know … human blood.' He began to shuffle back. 'Maybe we should rethink this,' he said, 'maybe I should just speak to that immigration lawyer after all.'

'Don't be silly.' She dropped her hand from his and wrapped her arms around him instead. 'You've always had demon blood,' she told him, 'even before you knew about your demon half. You must have taken a blood test last time you got married. They didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. They won't this time either - I swear.' She pulled him closer for a kiss, 'they're not checking for demon blood,' she promised. She kissed him again. Pressing her lips harder against his and squeezing him tighter.

'Ow - ow!' he suddenly pulled free. 'Ribs!'

'Sorry…' she smiled sheepishly.

'Still not used to that slayer strength, huh?'

'Not quite.' They broke apart, rejoined hands and stared back up at the building. 'So - are y' ready?' Doyle asked her.

She felt the butterflies batter their wings against her insides. 'I guess I am,' she said, giving his hand another squeeze. They started to walk up the steps. 'Are you sure you've got your social security number?'

* * *

Wesley placed the grenade on the lab bench in front of Fred. 'was Angel mad?' she asked him.

'Any reason he shouldn't be? We sent him out there with a defective bit of weaponry.'

A look of irritation passed across Fred's face. 'Which 'we' are we talking about?'

Wesley took a deep breath, and when he spoke he kept his voice soft. 'Fred, these techno-mystical hybrids are a complicated affair.'

'Oh I don't know,' Knox came bounding down the stairs from Fred's office and joined them. He smiled affably at Wesley, who did not smile back. 'It seemed kind of simple to me,' Knox said, picking up the grenade and turning it over in his hand. 'It's just a little hand-held spell casting robot right? So it's either the robot or the spell that we have a problem with.'

Wesley inhaled sharply and tried to fight down his irritation. 'Well, the grenade's core enchantment looks operational. So I think we're talking about a faulty trigger mechanism.'

It was Fred's turn to inhale with annoyance. 'No. Wait a minute - I designed that mechanism myself,' she said, hotly.

'Yeah, that's right - and I machined it,' Knox said. His voice was still much lighter and more friendly than either Wes' or Fred's. 'It was beautiful work, on both counts, if I may say.' He smiled proudly, and looked at Fred. She looked back up at him and all her irritation seemed to melt away. 'You may,' she smiled back and they both giggled. Wesley tutted.

Lorne walked into the lab, smiling broadly. 'Happy Halloween, kids,' he greeted them. His manner was cheery again, after his run in with Angel. He had regained his composure. But the others weren't listening to him.

'How do you know your spellcasters didn't screw up the payload?' Knox asked Wesley.

'Because I went over the work and I got that knowing feeling when you _know_ something,' he replied through gritted teeth.

Lorne clapped his hands, 'trick or treat?... now, what do you say you put your little sci fi toys away for a bit,' he waved a disdainful hand at the grenade, 'and maybe we could talk about something a little more important? Like my monster mash?' He rubbed his hands together and looked at them expectantly.

The faces that looked back at him were not enthusiastic. 'Oh yeah - your party,' Fred said, sounding uninterested. He worked to maintain his smile and affable demeanour. 'Our party, tweety bird. Which by the way, is dying on the vine. I could really really really use some help from you guys. Some back up?'

Fred looked uncomfortable. 'I wasn't really planning on going.'

He kept his grin wide, but there was a definite edge to his voice when he turned and spoke to Wesley. 'Wes. Do you hear this crazy talk?'

'Well I hadn't really given much thought to going myself.'

'Et tu Brutuses,' Lorne cried - and there was no denying the edge in his voice now. 'Why is it so hard to get anyone to have any fun around here?'

'You should go,' Knox said to Fred - and launched into a recount of the previous year's Halloween party at the Wolfram and Hart branch he'd been at then. They'd taken a whole bunch of cows, put them inside a giant wicker effigy of Krishna, doused the whole thing in sambuca and … he cut himself off as he noticed Lorne making cutting gestures across his throat. 'Uh… well, it's a pretty good time,' he finished up.

But Fred was unconvinced - she wanted to get the grenade operational before Angel went out in the field again. And Wesley was keen to agree. He was sure if they worked together closely they could figure it out.

'No.' Lorne put both hands on the lab bench and leaned towards them. There was no trace of a smile left on his face now. 'No-no-no no. No No. Wes, Fred, You're coming.' He snapped. 'Look at you both - you're wound tighter than Martha Stewart's swatch.' He took a deep breath, concentrated on taking the snap out of his tones and plastered a smile back on his face. 'Isn't there anyone else who'd - uh - fix the little boo-boos on this thing?' he said, waving again towards the grenade.

Fred and Wesley stared at him - a little taken aback and uncomfortable. 'I'll do it,' Knox said suddenly. 'It's probably the trigger mechanism anyway.'

'Great! Problem solved,' Lorne turned to leave, 'I'll see you two in Angel's office. 15 minutes.'

* * *

Gunn sat in his office reading some papers. There was a knock on the door and Lorne walked straight in and perched on the edge of his desk. 'Hey hey, sorry to interrupt., Not to be a pest, but I wanted to go over a little stratego amigo.'

Gunn crinkled his brow in confusion.

'You're my big gun, Gunn,' Lorne told him. His smile was wide once more, but he was talking very fast. 'My Ace in the hole, ball in my pocket, you're the key on my kite string.'

'O - _Kay_,' he wasn't feeling any less confused.

'We gotta turn Angel round on the whole party idea.'

'We do?'

Lorne leaned forward. 'Look, I know he's the boss and everything, but you're up and coming here - and it's time for you to spread your wings, legal eagle. From now on, I want you to stake out your territory and I want you to keep it staked.'

'Stake, territory. Sure,' Gunn repeated back at him blankly. He shook his head. 'Look, um, Lorne - I'm a little busy right now. I have a deposition to get ready for. But I will definitely get to that.'

Lorne slid off his desk and headed for the door. 'Great. Just what I wanted to hear. Angel's office. Ten minutes.'

* * *

The team, and Lilah, sat in Angel's office in silence. They had all turned up at the time Lorne had asked them to … but there was, as yet, no sign of the demon himself. And the silence was becoming awkward.

Spike was stood by the window that looked out onto the lobby, watching all the hurrying and scurrying as the party was prepared for. He snorted in derision. 'In my day, no self respecting creature of the night went out on All Hallow's Eve. We left that to the posers, the blighters who had to dress up and try to be scary.' He tutted and turned to leave - just as Lorne came walking through the door, talking loudly on his cell phone.

'Ah perfetto! Benigni! Perfetto!' He and Spike came face to face and danced from side to side trying to avoid each other and let the other pass. With another tut, Spike marched off and Lorne continued his conversation. 'Ah si si si. Grande. Ciao.' He hung up and grinned around at everybody. 'So what did I miss?'

'Us - waiting,' Angel told him - sounding unimpressed. Lorne laughed apologetically - and then got down to business. The purpose of the meeting was to emphasise to Angel how important the party really was to all of them.

Despite the sceptical look on Fred and Wesley's faces - mirroring Angel's own - Lorne was at least able to find an ally in Gunn. The way Gunn figured it, they needed to show all the Big Bads that the new regime was here to stay. And that - for the most part - boiled down to image. And image wise, if the party didn't kick ass - then the company lost face.

Lorne nodded along to his words, 'and believe me, milk dud, speaking as the head of your PR department - we need all the face we can get.'

'Milk dud?'

'Said with affection!'

Angel sighed and threw up his hands. He understood the concept of keeping up appearances, he did - but almost everyone coming to this thing would be unrepentant, died- in- the- wool evil. They didn't know how many of them would be holding grudges against the team - or each other - this was a perfect recipe for an out of control bloodbath.

But Lorne was quick to assure him he could handle it. He'd run Caritas for years - where the good, the bad and the hideously ugly had all played together nicely while they were there.

'This is what we've been talking about, big guy,' Lilah said to Angel, leaning forward. 'Big picture stuff. We talked about the need to keep Wolfram and Hart running - and that means keeping your clients happy. Your clients expect a Halloween party - and they expect you to handle all those warring factions and keep everything running smoothly. Holland Manners always managed it.'

'Holland Manners got eaten inside his own wine cellar,' Angel snapped.

'But he knew how to throw a decent party,' Lilah smiled back, 'for clients - and for employees … speaking of…' she watched as Harmony came in and handed a mug of blood to Angel. 'They work hard for this firm. And around here, Halloween, well - it's like Christmas. Evil Christmas. Simply put, this is a morale thing.'

Harmony snorted, 'good luck - the morale around here stinks.'

Angel looked up at her in alarm, 'what?'

She nodded, 'uhuh - everybody thinks you suck.' Angel glowered over his pig's blood, but his secretary carried on relentlessly. 'Well, come on boss, they're all out there - sweating through their matsudas - worried if you're gonna axe them or, you know, _axe them_.'

Angel's expression became hurt, and he looked around at the others for support. 'OK - look … I may have ... killed a couple of them…'

'And several clients,' Lorne pointed out, 'and maybe some potential clients. Why do you think my RSVP list is a fifth of the size of last years?'

'Come on! What? Do they think I'm just throwing this thing so I can slaughter the lot of them?' Everyone in the room just stared at him. He sighed deeply and leaned back in his big, leather chair, sulking. 'Fine,' he relented. 'I surrender. Go ahead, Lorne. Put on your best dog and pony. I won't get in your way.'

But that wasn't enough for Lorne. He didn't want Angel just to sit back and let it happen - he needed him out there making it happen. Angel looked unnerved. 'What does that mean?'

* * *

'I'm just sayin' my arm is sore,' Doyle said, as he and Cordelia arrived back at the office. 'She jabbed the needle in _way_ too hard.'

'You're such a wuss.'

'Hey - she just stuck a great big needle in my arm and took a whole load of blood.'

Cordelia laughed. 'She did exactly the same thing to me.'

'Yeah - but you got super healing abilities … I bruise easily.'

She laughed again, and pulled him in for a kiss. 'Poor Doyle,' she murmured, kissing him on the nose and then softly on the lips, 'maybe I can make you feel better?'

'Yeah?' he raised his eyebrows, looking pleased.

'Uhuh…' she pushed him down on the sofa, he slumped back on it and she climbed on top of him. He put his hands around her waist and leaned up, as she leaned down, and they deepened their kiss.

There was a sudden knock on the door - and then it was immediately pushed open. Cordelia sprang off Doyle's lap and hastily pulled her skirt down. 'Dr. Folger,' she smiled brightly at the dentist from next door who had just walked in.

'Hey,' the dentist said, if he noticed anything amiss he didn't say anything. 'I saw you guys get back, I got your mail by accident.' He handed it over.

'Thanks,' Cordelia said, snatching it from him and blushing, trying to cover her embarrassment.

'Thanks, man,' Doyle said.

The dentist nodded, 'have a nice day,' and walked out. Doyle smiled up at Cordy, who was rifling through the mail, 'so where were we?' he asked hopefully.

'I don't believe it!' Her eyes were suddenly blazing with what looked like anger - and her voice was hard.

'Believe what?' he swallowed nervously, wondering what bad news the post could possibly have brought them this time. But instead of a threatening letter from a government department, Cordelia held up a shiny, embossed invitation on stiff, expensive looking paper. 'They've invited us to their little evil incorporated Halloween soiree,' she said. 'They actually expect us to go to Wolfram and Hart and party with them. As if we ever would.'

Doyle cleared his throat and shuffled on the sofa, 'I dunno, Cordy,' he said awkwardly. She glared up at him. He shuffled again. 'It's just - Angel was here again last night. Brooding. I really think, maybe we should go,' he told her. 'Moral support for the big guy, you know?'

* * *

Angel and Lorne sat in the back of a Limousine as it drove them through the night towards the home of one of their more important clients. Lorne fixed himself a drink and took a sip. 'Archduke Sebassis,' he informed Angel, 'Bona fide nobility from the fiery down under. He commands 40 legions. He's the living end of a pure bloodline of demonic royalty.'

'Great,' Angel grimaced, 'just great.'

But Lorne wasn't finished with the Archduke's credentials. Sebassis was the very peak of the A list mountain. He was the crown jewel of the underworld jet set. If they could just convince him to come, all the other glitterati would domino right in line behind him. And then - then they would be in business.

Angel watched Lorne as he spoke, realising something. 'This really matters to you, doesn't it?' he asked.

'Well of course. The new Wolfram and Hart. I mean we have to…'

'No,' Angel interrupted. 'I mean this really matters to you, personally. Why?'

Lorne sighed and took another sip of his cocktail. 'You know Angel, I don't have superhuman strength - and I'm not a fighter. Quantum physics makes me nauseous and I barely made a passing grade in mystical studies. But I am on your team. This is something I can do. I believe this has a purpose that can help you - even if you don't.'

Angel looked uncomfortable. He hadn't meant to make Lorne feel like he didn't think he was a valuable part of the team. 'I'm here aren't I?' he defended himself, 'I agreed to this.'

Lorne nodded and took another drink. 'No you did. You did. And I promise, you won't regret it. But - hey - let's leave it so that I do most of the talking, OK? You just sit there and smile and try not to rip anybody apart.'

* * *

Doyle pulled open his closet and stared inside. 'Uh - Cordy? Any ideas?' He called over to her. She had gone off to shower and start getting ready the moment it was decided they would attend the party. As a result, she was already dressed in a slinky black number, with her hair elegantly pinned up, and was busy applying her makeup. Meanwhile he was just out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist and was dripping all over the floor.

'Wear your shirt and vest from the ballet,' she called through to him. He nodded and rooted through until he found what he was looking for, then he towelled himself dry and pulled on his pants. He was just buttoning up his waistcoat when he heard a low wolf whistle. He looked around and saw Cordy standing in the doorway, smiling very appreciatively.

'What are you smiling at?' he asked her, smiling himself.

'I was just thinking …' she walked up to him and stood so close the tips of their noses were almost touching, she reached out and fixed his collar, 'that this is what you'll look like when we get married.'

He glanced down at himself, 'yeah? Do I look OK?'

She nodded, slowly. 'Very pretty,' she told him, 'prettier even than I remembered.' She leaned in and pressed her lips softly against his own.

'You know, you look very pretty too,' he told her, once they had broken apart.

'Duh!' She pulled away from him and walked off to find some earrings that went with her outfit. 'You think we should take weapons?' she called back through to him.

He frowned as he fastened his cuffs. 'Why?'

'All those evil people? We might need to make something go squish.'

'Ah - I dunno, Cordy,' he shook his head. 'We're Angel's guests, it might be considered rude to go round killin' his clients under his roof. And anyway - with all that evil in one place, I'm guessin' they'll be confiscating weapons at the door.'

'I could take a concealed weapon.'

'Now where on earth would you conceal a weapon in that little back dress?' he asked her, coming out of the bedroom. She picked up a throwing star and held it up to show him, 'I could easy hide this in my bra.'

* * *

Having arrived at the Archduke's palatial home, Lorne and Angel had been shown into the throne room - and granted an audience. They sat in little chairs, opposite the dais - where Sebassis sat on his golden throne. Angel was a little reminded of Pylea - and the throne room that had somehow, inexplicably, been handed to Doyle, as if the Irishman were royalty. But Archduke Sebassis wore his position with much more assurety than the little half demon, who had been half dead from mortification the whole time. He gazed down at his visitors, a guard at his side, his expression was sneering.

'So - this is the mighty Angel. I've been told many things about you. Bit of a restless frog, hmm? Making lots of waves in your little swamp.'

Angel wrestled with his expression trying to keep it pleasant. 'Yes well, I'm just trying to keep the fly population down.'

Lorne forced out a laugh and then glared at the vampire. Sebassis sneered down at them both. 'Yes,' he said, 'though I do prefer the tales of your counterpart Angelus. Ah - but you had flair back then, child.'

Angel bit down his irritation and forced his smile back in place. 'Well I guess we all mellow in our old age.'

But his even tone and rictus grin were not fooling Sebassis. 'You're contempt is fragrant,' the demon prince told him. He took a sip from a wine glass, of a deep blue liquid - and watched his two visitors over its rim. Once the liquid was drained, he yanked on a chain - and pulled forward a tiny, pale demon who was naked save for a loin cloth. The Archduke held out his wine glass and the little chained slave demon pulled a cork out of its own arm. The blue liquid, which Sebassis had been drinking, flowed from the uncorked vein of his slave into his glass.

Lorne watched in disgust. But - just as Angel had swallowed down his irritation - Lorne managed to swallow down his revulsion. He smiled as broadly as he could. 'Your Lordship, we were deeply grieved when you declined our invitation. We'd love for you to reconsider.'

There was a moment of silence - and he reached out and slapped Angel's arm in annoyance. The vampire took the hint. 'Yeah, ha!' Angel chuckled nervously. 'I mean a party just isn't a party without the Archduke.'

Sebassis ignored them both - and instead offered them a drink from his slave. Angel declined immediately, and very quickly, but then remembered his manners and offered his thanks after another glare form Lorne.

'Oh come,' Sebassis said. 'We're all blood drinkers here. Ah - but that's right, You choose to drink the blood of swine. Filthy beasts.'

Angel couldn't keep the smile on his face anymore. 'Actually that's a misconception,' he said, his voice as stony as his expression.

But Lorne quickly interrupted him. 'Filthy!' he agreed, 'ha! Yes - don't know how he does it.' He picked up a wine glass of his own - filled with the same blue liquid, stared at it dubiously, and then forced himself to take a sip. 'Mmm … well this is…' he looked at the slave, 'you taste great.'

'Well, in light of this amusing chat,' Archduke Sebassis said, 'and of my longstanding acquaintance with you, Lorne, I _will _come to the gala.'

That was all Lorne needed to hear. He put the wine glass down, got to his feet and started to bundle Angel out of the room before the vampire could say or do anything to mess this up. 'Well - that's wonderful news, your Lordship. We don't want to waste any more of your valuable time. We'll show ourselves out.'

...

The Archduke watched them leave, without saying anything. 'I still think it's a trap, your lordship,' his guard said, once they were gone.

'Maybe, Artode. But I am in the mood for intrigue. So we'll go to their celebration. We'll just make sure we are properly dressed.' He waved his hand and - across the room - a panel slid back, revealing a hidden cabinet filled with vicious looking weapons.


	19. Life of the Party: Part Two

_Part Two_

Doyle and Cordy stood side by side in the elevator as it took them up to the lobby. Music tinkled in the background. 'Well - that was embarrassin',' Doyle said, breaking the silence.

'What? There are evil people here - I wanted to take precautions.'

'Uhuh - so I get the frisky end of some security guy's probe just 'cause _you've_ got a throwing star stashed in your underwear. That's fair.'

She giggled, 'well nobody ever suspects the little girl, Doyle - you look way more shifty than me. And look on the bright side - you might be sore, but I'm still armed. Which is good - because who knows what manner of evil we're about to face out there.'

The bell dinged and the door slid open - Cordy took a deep breath preparing herself for whatever horror was coming her way … only to find that the place was dead. Pretty much completely dead - the dance floor was empty, apart from one blonde girl twirling away under the glitterball, and a group of surly looking lawyers hung around the edges, drinking beers.

'This is it?' Cordelia asked. 'This is … I was expecting something … You know - more.'

'Ah-' Doyle wrapped his arm around her and ushered her out of the elevator and towards the drinks table. 'Halloween's always dead, no self respectin' creature of evil goes out on Halloween. But you know - we should probably do a quick sweep, show our faces, drop in and say 'hey' to Angel - then head home.'

'You can be all relaxed about this if you like, little Irish man,' she said to him, 'but I, for one, am gonna stay on my toes - alert for any sign of…' she was cut off as she was suddenly engulfed in a pair of arms, a glittery dress and a mountain of blonde hair. 'Oh my god oh my god oh my god!' she heard a familiar voice squeal. 'Oh my god, _Cordy!_ It is so _great_ to see you!'

'Har - Harmony?' she choked out, in surprise. 'This is … last time I saw you you tried to kill me. What is this?'

Harmony pulled away from her, her grin big and wide. 'Duh - I'm a working gal trying to make it in the big city!' she told her former best friend. 'I'm Angel's personal assistant. I'm like his right arm.'

'Huh - Angel never told me his right arm was evil,' Doyle said. Harmony glanced over at him, her smile faltered, but she fought to keep it in place. 'And you're still with Doily?' she said to Cordelia. 'Well - that's just … great.'

'Doyle,' Cordelia corrected her. 'A doily is something lacy you put under cups.'

'Right…' Harmony nodded. 'Well - Cordy you - you look great,' she said, motioning to Cordy's black dress. Cordy glanced down at herself. 'Oh thanks - you too. I guess … working here is really working out for you, huh?'

'Well - the dental is great. And the magic windows that stop us vampires burning up. But it has its downsides - too. Bossy the cow, for one. He's so crabby all the time. I tried to dress Connor up in a little pumpkin outfit specially for tonight - he yelled at me and told me the party was past Connor's bedtime. I mean - what is that even about? It's only Halloween once a year. I'm just gonna avoid like the plaque when it gets to Christmas.'

'Plague,' Doyle corrected her.

'What?'

'Nothin…' he shook his head, 'so - uh - Angel's actin' a bit grumpy is he?'

'Does he ever act any other way?'

Cordelia laughed. 'She has you there, Doily.' She looked around the lobby. 'I kinda expected it to be - I don't know - a bit busier, maybe?' she said. Harmony scoffed. 'Would you got to a party if you thought the host was only throwing it so he could slice your head off or bury an axe in your back? I tell you - things have been _rough_ since Angel took over. But anyway- ' she went back to her big, bright grin, 'I'm gonna go and dance - you coming Cordy?'

'Maybe later - I'm just gonna hang here with Doily for a bit … get the lay of the land.'

'Whatever - see you out there,' she gave a cheery wave and headed back under the glitterball. The young couple watched her go. 'Well, that was interestin',' Doyle said.

'Which part?' She laughed, sounding unbelieving.

'No I mean it. We knew Angel wasn't settlin' in well, all his late night visits to the office told us that. But it's a two way street. There's unease on The Senior Partner's side o' the block, as well. A lot o' mistrust on both sides. That's … interestin'.'

* * *

A couple of lawyers stood not that far away from the slayer and her boyfriend - and they were talking to a newcomer. 'What brings you here?' one of them asked, wondering why the D.A's office were now attending Wolfram and Hart shindigs. The public servants, as a general rule, did not get along with the shadiest and most corrupt of the private law firms.

Lindsey shrugged, 'used to work for the old firm,' he gave them his most charming smile, 'I remember what these parties were like in the old days, under Holland Manners. Guess I was just curious as to how things were faring under the much lauded new regime.' He raised his beer in a toast.

The Wolfram and Hart lawyer snorted in disgust. 'Well take a good look round,' he said. 'This is lame - and this is it. I mean, where's the ritual sacrifice? How do you get the ball rolling without a ritual sacrifice?'

'Beats me,' Lindsey smiled, his expression giving nothing away.

Lorne approached the little group. He clapped Lindsey on the shoulder. 'Lindsey - you look fabulous - great to see you, how ya doing?' and then turned to the cadre of firm lawyers, without waiting for an answer. 'Guys, come on, you're representing our glorious firm, here.'

'Dude, this is our night off.'

'No. This is your night _ON_.' He yelled the last word and his eyes and expression became hard. 'Now mingle. Mingle mingle mingle mingle mingle.' The lawyers hurried off, grumbling - and Lorne was called away to greet a guest.

...

Lindsey was left alone. He took a swig of his beer and looked around at the party - noting Doyle and Cordelia lurking in a corner and looking uncomfortable, noting the quiet of the dance floor and the emptiness of the space - though the lawyers were now working the room - and most of all, noticing that Angel, himself, was nowhere to be seen. He took another swig of his beer and nodded thoughtfully.

* * *

'Lorne!' a large demon, with an uneven gait, lumbered over to the empath. He was wearing an argyle sweater and had something thin and flesh coloured stuck, masklike, across his own bumpy face. 'Hey Devlin,' Lorne shook his hand, 'what are you supposed to be?'

'You not get? I Human Bean,' the demon told him. 'Watch I do Human Bean … I very proud of my honour roll student.' He began to laugh at his own impression, Lorne smiled and laughed along with him, politely. 'Oh right - that's - uh … yeah. So tell me, that mask,' he raked his eyes over the human face stretched taught over the demon's own, 'it is rubber right?'

But the demon only answered with another impression. 'My other car is Lamborghini,' he said - and laughed uproariously, again.

'OK, so - uh - well, you be good and everything.' He dropped the demon's hand and walked away.

...

He walked over to where Cordelia and Doyle were standing. 'Ciao bella, bellissimo! Cordy you look divine!' He gave her a hug and kissed her cheek and then shook Doyle's hand. 'It's great to see you both. So glad you could make it.'

They both shuffled awkwardly and glanced at each other, 'well - you know - we didn't wanna miss your soiree,' Doyle told him, forcing a smile. 'Though - uh - it is a little quieter than I expected, yeah?'

'Well it's gonna be if everyone clings to the corners like you, Mr. life of the party.' Lorne's smile was wide - but that edge was still present in his tone. 'You should get out there and dance - start a trend. Go on Michael Flatley - show 'em what you've got.'

Cordy and Doyle exchanged another awkward glance. 'Maybe later,' she said. 'We're just - you know … we don't know that many people here and what we do know is … everyone's evil. It's just - you know - the corner is good. For now. We're good here.'

'Would you relax!' Lorne said to her laughing. 'You just need to let those walls down, forget everyone here is evil and just concentrate on having a good time. I've never known you not to enjoy a party, Cara Mia - don't start now.'

The couple exchanged a third glance. But Lorne was already off and away - going to mingle with other people, 'toodles,' he called over his shoulder, throwing them a wave and disappearing across the lobby.

...

He appeared over by the hors d'oeuvres table, where Fred and Wesley were stood together, uncomfortably, discussing how much they didn't really like parties. 'Hey there wallflowers!' he greeted them, cheerily. They glanced at each other, dismayed. 'I need you to give me a hand,' he said to them. 'Help light the fuse on this powder keg? Look at that Dance floor. The only people on it are Harmony and Doyle.'

The pair of them glanced over that the centre of the lobby, where Harmony was shimmying away and Doyle was throwing down some shapes, underneath the glitterball. 'Well, he seems to be enjoying himself,' Wesley said, 'he hasn't even said hello.'

'Yeah - I didn't know he could move like that…' Fred frowned, watching the Irishman twist himself into convoluted knots in time to the music. 'he might hurt something … is Cordy here?' She looked around hopefully.

'Hey hey,' Lorne snapped at them, and they tore their eyes away from the wildly flailing Doyle and looked back at the anagogic demon. 'We are not here to spend the whole night huddling in corners and talking to nobody outside the family. I need you out there - pushing that envelope.'

'I'm afraid this really isn't our element, Lorne,' Wesley told him.

'Yep - we're wall flowers,' Fred chimed in. She sounded a little hurt by the demon's earlier categorisation of her. He immediately worked to make amends. 'No no no, sweetie. You're the young, the beautiful, the ready to …' he glanced at their hands and realised they were empty. 'Oh - well here's one problem. You're completely sober!' He sounded quite annoyed by this discovery. 'It's Halloween. You should be three sheets to the wind already. Now try and get into the spirit of things, OK?'

...

His next stop was Angel's office - where the big guy himself was sat behind his desk, his face like a block of wood; absolutely, steadfastly refusing to come out into the lobby and join in the party. 'Angel, it's a graveyard out there,' Lorne jerked his thumb in the direction of the door, indicating the party. 'And all the guests wanna meet the new guy in charge.'

'Look, Lorne… I - I I have things…' but Lorne just glared at him. 'I'm busy,' he tried again. That didn't seem to work any better. 'I'm brooding,' he finished up. But Lorne wasn't fooled. He looked around the room and saw the actual point of Angel's focus - the widescreen, wall mounted t.v across the room. 'You're watching hockey?' he yelled in disbelief.

'Yeah - but my team is losing.'

Lorne grit his teeth. 'Get up off your keister and get out there! I can't steer this ship of fools on my lonesome. I just can't do it! I…' he cut himself as he felt the pressure mounting inside of him, ready to erupt. He put his head in his hands and started to massage his temples, groaning.

Angel watched him, feeling flickers of concern as he started to realise something was seriously off with his friend. 'Lorne?' he said gently. But- just like that - Lorne's head snapped up again, the manic grin back on his face, the cheer and bonhomie in place once more. 'Let's boogie, sweet tart.' He clapped his hands.

* * *

Cordelia grabbed another handful of pretzels and turned her brightest smile on the demon she was talking to. 'You know - it's funny,' she told it, 'I was really worried about coming here - but for the life of me I can't remember why.'

'My master fears this is a trap. That Angelus has lured us all here to kill us.'

Cordy laughed, 'he actually goes by Angel, now.' she said, 'none evil twin variety. And that isn't why you've been invited. I can guarantee, broody boy will be locked away in his office refusing to come out.' She smiled again. 'So - who do you work for?'

The demon - who had large, curling rams horns and green eyes - looked surprised. 'I am an acolyte of Lord D'hakmarth,' he told her - as if this should mean something. She paused and thought for a moment, wrinkling up her nose and then laughing again. 'Nope - don't know him.'

'You are not connected to the underworld? His name rattles the very souls of humanity in their eternal torment. It causes the walls of hell itself to tremble.'

There was another pause, whilst Cordy considered this. 'Wow,' she said at last. 'That's so neat. But no - I don't know that much about the underworld, if I'm honest. My fiance and I work for The Powers that Be. He has the pure sight - he gets these visions of folks in trouble, or demons that need squishing.'

'I hear that's a very rare gift,' the demon said, sounding interested. She nodded her head and took another mouthful of pretzels. 'Uhuh - he's the only one of his kind I've ever met - and I've been fighting evil for seven years now.'

'_You_ are an evil fighter?' The demon looked her up and down, looking surprised. 'And what is your gift that allows you to serve the higher powers?'

'I'm a vampire slayer,' she told him, blithely, munching down on her salty snacks.

'_You _are the slayer?' he sounded even more surprised.

'_A_ slayer,' she corrected him, nodding her head. 'Uhuh - there's hundreds of us now - maybe thousands. We all got called at the same time, over the summer. It's been pretty wild.' Their conversation fell into a lull, and she looked around at the room. Her smile grew wider still. 'This is such a great party,' she said to the acolyte of Lord D'hakmarth. 'Everyone here is just so nice - don't you just think everybody here is absolutely wonderful?'

* * *

Doyle was in the middle of the dance floor, right underneath the glitterball - pulling out all his best moves. He did the snake - waving his arms and rolling his head - stepping from side to side. Then as the music became more fast paced, he planted his feet down firmly and held his left arm out, pulled his right arm back and then snapped it forward, like he were firing an arrow from a bow, He moved round in a circle - firing his invisible arrow in time to the music.

Harmony was dancing alongside of him, and more and more people were starting to enter the dance floor. He knew he should want Cordy there to dance with him, or that he should be going to talk to Angel and check he was OK - but he was having such a good time just cutting loose, he barely had time to think about all that.

As the dance floor became even more crowded, he dropped to the ground and did the worm, as the other dancers gathered round him in a circle, clapping their hands.

* * *

Lilah stood on the edge of the dance floor, ignoring the little leprechaun Lord of the Dance in the middle of it, and instead narrowing her eyes as she watched Wesley. He seemed to be having a good time, moving through the party - laughing away. She bet he was having a good time. He had spent the whole evening glued to Fred's side. He hadn't spoken to anyone else all night. She narrowed her eyes even further - and tried to ignore the pang of jealousy in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

Lorne dragged Angel out of his office. The vampire looked around at the packed lobby, blinking in the flashing lights and trying to block out the sound of the overbearing music. He squinted - was that _Doyle_ \- in the middle of the dance floor, body popping? And _Lindsey_ right next to him - laughing ? Why were all these people here?

But Lorne gave him no time to go and investigate. 'So over there we have the Britzai representatives. We can get to them later. Oh - and there's an elder of the Fell brotherhood. Come on - let's go say hi,' and he dragged the protesting vampire off to greet some of his more important guests.

* * *

Harmony spotted Spike standing, lurking, on the edge of the dance floor - and abandoned Lindsey and Doyle to go and beg her blondie bear to dance with her. 'Come on, Spikey, come dance with me,' she shouted to him over the loud music, gyrating even as she talked.

Spike looked monumentally unimpressed. 'You have got to be kidding.'

'Oh come on,' she pleaded, fluttering her eyelashes. 'Don't leave me to Cordelia's silly little boyfriend, come dance with me.'

But Spike remained stony-faced. 'Listen, chippie, you can gyrate all you like but I'll go to hell before these ghost shoes touch that dance floor.'

'Oh blondie bear, where is your Halloween spirit?' She pouted.

'Dearly departed,' he told her. He stared around at the dancing crowds and the decorations in distaste. 'All this claptrap for a bit of dusty old druid nonsense,' he snorted. 'The whole silly lot of you can get hung, if you ask me.'

'So what are you doing here, then?' she asked him, as she headed back to the dance floor. He looked around, irritated. What was he doing here? He turned and began to stride away from the dance floor, but immediately bumped into Angel and Lorne. 'Spike, I thought you hated these things,' Angel said, looking surprised to see him there. Spike raised a sardonic eyebrow, 'I would have thought the same of you,' he said, pointedly.

'Oh no,' Lorne was grinning, and he clapped Angel on the shoulder. 'He's doing great,' he assured Spike. 'He's already not killed, like, 100 guests.'

'He doesn't have to - this party's dead already.'

The grin snapped off Lorne's face. 'Oh really, Spike, would it kill you to be a bit more positive? Hmmm?'

* * *

Cordy had grabbed herself a cocktail, now, and found herself up on the landing above the lobby chatting with Gunn. She was having such a fantastic time. She could see - down in the lobby below - Doyle hopping across the dancefloor playing the guitar on his left leg, whilst all the other dancers cleared a hasty path. She should probably be embarrassed by him, but she was having far too good a time to care. And anyway, Harmony and Lindsey were down there with him, in case he pulled anything - they'd get him off the dance floor OK. She wiggled along in time to the music, and leaned in closer to hear what Gunn had to say.

'Things have been crazy round here,' he was telling her, 'just last week we had to stop some centuries old serial killer ghost from pulling Spike into hell. And before that we had a werewolf scare. It's been pretty full on.'

'Yeah - and how's your new brain upgrade working out?' she shouted over the music.

'Pretty sweet - not gonna lie. How's things your end?'

'We've been crazy busy too,' she told him - and launched into all the details of the demons they were finding dead, and how the PTB were sending Doyle visions after the fact, 'so he's totally wigging out. You know chicken little - he thinks everything's his fault,' she said. Then she told him about the seance they had held the previous week, and how they managed to speak to the spirit of one of the murdered demons. 'But it was a total bust. He was killed by an army - but we don't know what, or how to stop them. But there's something nasty out there and it's getting everybody's tail twitching.'

'That's so weird,' Gunn yelled at her, as the music rose to a particularly loud crescendo, 'I've not heard anything about this.'

'Well you're here - fighting the good fight your way - all up in the law.' She grinned around at her surroundings. 'You know, this really is a fantastic party - everyone here is so wonderful. Hey - did I tell you Doyle got a letter from the department of immigration the other week?'

* * *

As Angel and Lorne turned away from Spike, a booming voice sounded across the party, announcing an important arrival. 'The Archduke Sebassis!' Lorne twisted to look and - sure enough, there was the Archduke and his entourage sweeping into the lobby. The anagogic demon clapped Angel on the shoulder, once more. 'Mmm OK, come on, sport, you're on. And please, for me, can you try to be nice to him? Just this once, huh?'

They headed over to where the Archduke was standing. Demons had crowded around him, some kneeling before him, reaching out to kiss his hand. He stared down at them in disdain. 'Yes. Fine. sycophants. Worms. Don't writhe all at once, it's sickening.'

Lorne gave Angel a shove, and the vampire stumbled forward and gripped Sebassis' outstretched hand, a wide - and not unsycophantic - grin on his face. 'Archduke Sebassis,' he said, shaking hands, vigorously, and grinning the whole time. 'Thanks so much for coming. Really really thrilled that you're here.'

...

As the vampire greeted the Archduke, Lorne turned to welcome his entourage - greeting Artode and admiring the green, leathery looking jacket he was wearing. 'It's Pylean,' Artode told him.

'Made in Pylea,' Lorne said - with fake enthusiasm. He hated any mention of home. 'My home dimension.'

'Not made in, made from,' Artode corrected. 'I skinned it myself. Anybody you know?'

The fake smile faltered on Lorne's face.

...

Meanwhile, Angel was still working on buttering up the Archduke. He was still shaking his hand and was now complimenting him on the way he looked. 'Well I don't have to tell you how awesome you look,' … the Archduke regarded the rambling vampire with a cool detachment. Angel rambled on. 'You know how awesome you look.' He turned to the group of sycophants for support, 'he knows how awesome he looks, right?'

Lorne decided enough was enough. Angel had tried his best - but his best wasn't very good. He just wasn't a people person. 'Angel, hey,' he detached Angel's hand from Sebassis'. 'We don't wanna be greedy with his eminence.' He nodded at the Archduke, 'thank you, your lordship.'

Angel stumbled away, backwards - still grinning at the demon prince. 'Absolutely, really. Thrilled to have you here.'

Lorne pushed him further away. 'Okey dokey! OK that'll do. Thank you. Come on.'

* * *

Fred and Wesley stumbled their way through the party, their arms linked for support. Fred was having trouble balancing and she was lurching around on her tippy toes as she told Wesley her story. '... so for 8 years straight I went out dressed as Raggedy Ann,' she slurred and then giggled.

Wesley was concentrating very hard on keeping himself upright - his back was very stiff and straight - but he couldn't stop the way he was lurching around. 'Sounds like fun, I suppose' he mumbled to Fred. As he struggled to make his words make sense - and hide how fuzzy his head was - his voice became more proper and his accent more pronounced. 'We never really celebrated Halloween in England.'

Fred made a sound like a mewling kitten in pain, 'that's so sad,' she said, her big, brown eyes looking sorrowful. He nodded, seriously. 'Yes, yes … very sad. Though we do have Guy Fawkes a few days later… that's always good for a…'

But Fred wasn't listening, 'look!' she pointed towards the hors d'oeuvres table and pulled him towards it, he stumbled after. 'Potstickers!'

'Watch your step guys,' Harmony told them, heading away from the trestle table and back to the dance floor. 'Somebody peed all over there.'

Fred tripped over her feet and came to a stop. 'Well that's just - huh…' she struggled to find the word in her dizzy brain. 'That's just … wrong.'

'Revolting,' Wesley agreed, nodding seriously once more - sure he was hiding, very cunningly, just how tipsy he felt.

* * *

Lorne walked up the stairs, shouting out greetings to everyone he passed - and then ordered a seabreeze from the bartender. His voice was weary - he needed the pickmeup. Up the stairs, Gunn was now talking with a client - shouting over the music about making an appointment next week to get his legal problems untangled, he was sure they could do it - no trouble at all. He turned to the demon, grinning. 'Looks like this things gonna work out,' he yelled.

Down beneath them, the dance floor was more packed than ever, Cordelia had joined Harmony there. Doyle was so busy vogue-ing that she couldn't get near him, but she was having a great time dancing with her old best friend and with Lindsey, who was spinning her around.

Lorne watched them for a moment, glad that at least some people were putting on a decent show of having a good time - even if Angel was still a work in progress.

'Man,' Gunn shouted to him, 'I wish I had a tenth of your energy - how do you do it?'

'I'll let you in on a little secret,' he leaned closer so he could be heard over the repetitive beat, 'I had my sleep removed. Little procedure they have here in the company.' He saw Gunn's surprised expression. 'Yeah - well, you know - I haven't slept a wink in, oh, about a month.'

'You had Wolfram and Hart remove your sleep?' Gunn asked, sounding dumbfounded. Lorne nodded. 'Lorne that's ..._great_!'

The green demon grinned. It was a quick procedure, he explained. In and out in about 20 minutes - no scarring. 'I tell ya,' he said to Gunn, 'you might wanna think about it. It'll go great with that new legal upgrade of yours.'

'Yeah, yeah - I'll look into it,' Gunn promised, nodding enthusiastically. Lorne took his seabreeze from the bartender, waved goodbye and headed back into the party.

* * *

In a dark corner of the lobby, Archduke Sebassis watched the party going on around him, with very grave suspicion. The vampire must be setting his trap - but their anti-detection spells had worked perfectly, no one one would realise that his entourage were armed.

'What if tries something?' Artode asked him.

'Kill them all!'

Artode nodded and asked to be excused. At the end of his long chain, the tiny little slave demon reached out and picked a berry off a plant, cramming it into his mouth.

* * *

Angel stood at the side of the dance floor, watching Cordy spin around with Lindsey. He supposed he should be glad that at least he wasn't watching her dance with Doyle, wasn't having to see just how happy they were … but for some reason Doyle was dancing the macarena all by himself. The macarena wasn't even playing.

'It hurts doesn't it?' he glanced around. Lilah had sidled up to him. She nodded at the dance floor. 'You're still in love with her. That much is obvious. It hurts to watch her - knowing you can't have her.'

'Well - you'd know all about that, Lilah,' he said drily. They both scanned the room, and found Wesley - still stumbling along with Fred, clutching each other and laughing hysterically. 'I've never seen him like that,' she said.

'I guess he never let his guard down around you.'

'Maybe once or twice,' she smirked, reminiscing. But then her face fell as she watched him with Fred. 'I guess they're the lucky ones - anyhow,' she said, taking a sip of her drink. 'They get to move on.'

'Would you guys lighten up?' Lorne had come across them, brooding. 'I get it,' he told them - watching them watch Wesley and Cordy, 'you both love someone who doesn't love you back. The course of true love never did run smooth. But it's better to have loved and lost yada yada yada. Now see here, twinkies, you are both incredibly beautiful people. You're both immortal. That's an amazing hand the universe dealt you both right there - and you should both be enjoying it to its full extent. It's nice to see you guys commiserating, but let's speed things up, huh? Both of you - put your heads together and find a way to move the heck on, if you know what I mean...'

...

Lilah and Angel burst through the office door, their arms wrapped around each other- kissing passionately. 'Isn't this a little sudden?' Angel murmured between kisses.

'It's been four years in the making,' she replied, her mouth still pressed against his - and she dragged him down onto the sofa.

* * *

Artode sat in the bathroom stall, reading a comic. He heard the door open, but he ignored it - until the door of his own stall rattled. 'Excuse me,' he called out, trying to let them know there was already someone in there. The door rattled again. 'Occupado,' he shouted. But then the door was ripped off its hinges. Artode was pulled out and smashed against the far wall. There was a sickening crunching sound - and then his blood splattered everywhere.


	20. Life of the Party: Part Three

_Part Three_

Cordelia was breathless from dancing. She tried to get Doyle to leave the floor and come and get a drink with her - but he barely even looked at her, so intent was he on his hand jiving _big fish little fish cardboard box - _so she just laughed and left him to it. Lindsey joined her at the bar and ordered them both a drink. 'Is this the greatest party or what?' she said, sipping on her cocktail. 'I haven't had this much fun since… I don't know when, before daddy got busted by the IRS and we lost everything, and I had to move here.'

'It's certainly been an interesting night,' he agreed, smiling his most charming smile. 'Hey, Cordelia - what do you know about that guy?' He nodded towards Spike, he was stood in a corner - a massive grin on his face, his eyes closed - moving his head in time to the beat.

Cordelia giggled. 'That's Spike,' she told the lawyer, 'you ever hear of him?'

'Tell me about him?'

'Where to start…' she took a deep breath. 'He used to be totally evil - he even killed two slayers, way back when - did I tell you I'm a vampire slayer now?'

'Huh - I didn't know that.' Lindsey smiled at her, 'so what were you saying about Spike?'

'Well - he was this big, bad ass vamp, back in the day. Tried to do Buffy in a whole bunch of times. Back when they were all scourge of Europey, him and Angelus were totally tight. But then Angel got his soul and relations … soured. But then Angel says Spike has a soul now, and he's in love with Buffy too. Oh - and I think he's a ghost.'

Lindsey nodded thoughtfully, and took a swig of his beer. 'So you do know his backstory - OK. That's quite the resumé he has. When was the last time you saw him - before tonight I mean?'

'Oh,' she wrinkled her brow as she tried to remember. 'Years ago now… that time with the gem of Amara. It was only a couple of months after me and Angel had first got to L.A. We barely even knew Doyle back then… weird to think.'

'And was that the only time Doyle met Spike?' Lindsey asked her, casually.

'Well 'met' might be pushing it - it's not like they were formally introduced or anything.'

'Right,' Lindsey laughed, 'here - let me get you another drink, doll.' Her ordered her another cocktail and she took it from him, slurping at it greedily. 'I'm having such a wonderful time,' she said - and then staggered a little on her heels, as she felt the alcohol take effect. Lindsey wrapped his arm around her waist to steady her. 'Steady there.'

Cordelia was laughing so hard she was in danger of spilling her drink. She struggled to straighten herself up, whilst Lindsey held on to her. 'oh hey - look,' she said, nodding, 'Spike's coming over.' Her knees wobbled and she leaned against Lindsey for a bit more support.

'Cordelia!' Spike greeted her - a giant grin on his face. 'You look smashing! Haven't seen you in an age. Is this the greatest party or what?'

She giggled again, 'it's wonderful. Hey, Spike - I heard you weren't evil anymore. Doesn't that make your hair a little silly?'

But Spike wasn't really listening. 'This is just the greatest song,' he shouted over the music, grinning widely. 'I can't get over how fantastic this music is.'

'Everyone's having so much fun!'

* * *

Down on the dance floor, the surly lawyer from earlier was whooping it up and starting a conga line. He led a train of people round the dance floor; whilst in the middle of their path, Doyle did the twist.

Even Fred and Wesley were dancing now - awkwardly, and not very coordinated - and close to the edge of the dance floor, but still very much joining in with the whole Halloween spirit.

...

Across the lobby, Archduke Sebassis watched the ongoing party with narrowed eyes. There was more to this than what could be seen on the surface, of that he was sure. The vampire had not invited them all here so they could writhe to these repetitive human beats and consume salted snack products. This … din was a distraction, carefully crafted to lower their defences, make them all soft before Angel's sudden yet inevitable betrayal. The trap was laid … but when would it spring?

He spoke to one of his entourage, 'find Artode.' The demon nodded and walked away, and Sebassis frowned. His bodyguard had been missing too long, and this celebration of the vampire's grew too wild. Caution would only take him so far, it was growing near the time for action.

...

The demon crossed the dance floor, on his search for Artode, walking briskly even though he had to keep dodging wildly flailing dancers. He skirted round Doyle, who was now dancing like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever - strutting and pointing, and bumped into Fred. He walked off without looking back at her - but she stopped dancing and starting yelling after him. 'You want a piece of me?' he ignored her - and she nodded, satisfied, 'yeah - that's right, buddy, keep walking.' She pointed after him, 'you walk alone! You walk alone!'

Wesley wrapped his arm around her waist and hoiked her backwards, 'careful,' he said, trying to balance her back on her feet and struggling - because he was having enough trouble balancing himself. 'That things fully loaded.'

'So am I,' she giggled. She wrapped her arms around Wesley's neck and pulled herself close to him. 'I am totally…' her fuzzy mind couldn't think of the right word, 'drunk faced,' she finished up, giggling again.

'That's because you can't hold your…. What are you drinking?'

'Nothing.'

'You can't hold that,' they started to stumble their way through the crowd, clinging to each other for support.

'Oh yeah? Lightweight?' she slurred, 'how much have you had?'

He held the beer bottle up in his hand. 'Including this …' he took a moment to get his tongue around the right words. 'I've had…' he peered at the beer, blearily. 'About a third of a half of this beer.'

Fred scrunched her nose up - and felt the gears in her brain move very very slowly. 'That's weird right?'

'Yes, I think so,' Wesley nodded, he was still trying to sound serious - he was pretty sure he was getting away with it, no one could tell how … drunkfaced, that was the word, how drunkfaced he was really. 'I think that's weird.'

'There's Gunn,' Fred pointed - and dragged Wesley across the dance floor, 'let's ask him if it's weird.'

Gunn was standing across the lobby from them, near a potted plant, his back was to them as they stumbled over to him. 'Hey. Hey. Gunn, is something weird going on?' Wesley asked him. Gunn turned round - and the three of them stared down as a golden trickle splashed across the floor. Wesley peered at his shoes and then squinted up at his friend. 'Charles you just peed on my shoes,' he slurred.

'Well I'll be damned.' Gunn hastily zipped up his fly. 'That's weird.'

Spike and Cordelia came to join the little group - they were giggling away and having an argument about who was having a better time. 'Hey, is this a great party or what?' he greeted the team.

'I never knew Wolfram and Hart threw such amazing hootenanny's,' Cordelia grinned, 'no wonder you guys came here - it's a blast. I can't wait for the Christmas party. Oh - maybe you guys should do a Wolfram and Hart Thanksgiving dinner? And invite all these wonderful people?'

Fred frowned. 'OK - something is wrong with this picture,' she said, concentrating very hard to make sure she got her words in the right order.

'This might be the greatest song ever written!' Spike announced, he closed his eyes and grinned, bobbing along in time to the beat.

Through the fog of his mind, something - slowly, slowly - was becoming clear to Wesley. 'We appear to be under some kind of spell,' he told the others.

There was a sudden loud groan, followed by a hiss of commiseration from the people on the dance floor. Doyle had just jumped in the air and tried to land in the splits … it hadn't worked out very well. But he got back to his feet - and was shaking it off. He squatted low on the floor and kicked out his legs, before bounding upwards, like a Cossak dancing. The people around him began to clap again. Cordelia crinkled her brow… maybe Doyle was under a spell too - it really wasn't like him to be all King of the Swingers like this. But she didn't understand - how could chicken little be cursed? She wasn't under any spell - she felt fine. Better than fine. Brilliant even. She'd never had such a good night surrounded by so many lovely people … maybe it was because she was the slayer, she must have some kind of natural immunity to whatever the hell was affecting everybody else…

Gunn tore his eyes away from Doyle, wincing in sympathy for the splits gone wrong, and spoke to Spike, trying to make some sense of the situation. 'How long have you been - you know … this.'

'Great isn't it?' Spike grinned, still waggling his head in time to the music. 'I don't know - happened a bit after I talked with Angel and Lorne.' He thought harder, 'yeah - Lorne told me to think positively.'

Somewhere - in the great rolling fog of Wesley's drunk brain, something suddenly made sense. He snapped his fingers and pointed, 'Lorne!' he pronounced to the group.

The demon himself danced up to the team, cheering and smiling. 'That dance floor is something,' he said, wiping the sweat from his brow… then he noticed the way they were all staring at him, 'what?'

* * *

The team bundled Lorne away from the dance floor - still ruled over supreme by Doyle - and pushed him into Angel's office. He protested the whole way - whatever they thought was going on, he hadn't done anything. He swore it. But the other's - even trapped in their various Lorne induced fogs - weren't listening. They knew something was up.

'Angel you in here?' Fred shouted out - her voice over loud now she was in the quiet of the office, but too drunk to alter her volume. She tripped over her own feet. 'Ange-...'

Angel's head popped up from behind the couch - looking startled. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow.

'What are you doing down there?' Cordelia asked, she wrinkled her nose, 'are you naked?'

'Hey - Angel's getting some!' Spike roared delightedly, as Lilah's head popped up over the side of the couch as well. 'Good on you mate!'

'Don't you guys knock?' Lilah asked them, she sounded annoyed. Wesley squinted at her, having trouble focusing his bleary eyes. 'Lilah?' he said - and even in his drunkenness, there was a definite note of hurt in his voice. She wrapped her arms across her body, covering herself and didn't say anything. Though she looked down - and her expression was more than a little guilty.

Angel glanced between the two of them. 'We were just … we were…'

'They must be under the effect of Lorne as well,' Wesley told the others, though he still sounded injured. 'Presum … presumally…' he gave up, words were hard. Fred snorted with laughter. 'Prezoomally.'

'Lorne's doing something to us all,' Wesley told Angel, his words still slurring. Lorne immediately protested - he was not - wouldn't he know? But Wesley shook his head. Everything Lorne had told them to do, they were doing. Spike was acting positive, Gunn was peeing all over the office…

'The only one of us unaffected is me,' Cordelia told her naked friend, 'I'm just having a great time with all your lovely clients. Wolfram and Hart is just the best.'

Lilah raised a sardonic eyebrow. 'Yeah, you're completely unaffected, twinkie,' she said. Cordelia completely missed the sarcasm. 'I know right? I'm thinking it must be because I have some kind of natural immunity on account of being…'

'Me and Wesely are a little bit drunk,' Fred interrupted in a loud and inebriated stage whisper. Wes nodded in agreement. 'Yes - but not because we drank, because Lorne told us to be drunk.'

'He told us to put our heads together and move on,' Lilah pointed out to Angel - she pulled him back on top of her, 'like this…' They began to kiss again.

'Guys!' Cordelia shouted, and they snapped apart. Wesley was once more looking a little hurt. 'Some kind of spell,' he muttered, 'magic of some sort… that's what it is.'

Angel, apart from Lilah once more, stared at Gunn in confusion. 'Lorne told you to pee all over the office?'

'Lord I hope so.'

But Lorne was still shaking his head. There had been no spell - there was no magic. He wasn't doing this. He would know if he was doing it. He didn't even know what this was.

'You know, I really love your desk,' Spike said to Angel, ignoring the conversation in favour of admiring the furniture.

'You know, this doesn't make a whole lot of sense,' Lilah pointed out. 'Lorne's an empath demon. He reads people. He doesn't make them…'

'Territory!' Gunn suddenly yelled out, everyone turned to stare at him. But that was it, he had just realised. Lorne had told him, just that morning, to stake out his territory … though it was a command being taken a little too literally.

Angel and Lilah took the opportunity to grab at each other and start kissing again. 'Guys, keep it in your pants,' Fred yelled, giggling. Lorne stared around at them. Sure, they weren't wrong - everyone was acting like an oddball, one way or the other, but he didn't see how they were laying the blame all on him. 'Hey - I did not tell Gunn to water the ferns!' he protested. 'I didn't do anything.'

'You had your sleep removed,' Gunn groaned in realisation. 'He hasn't slept in a month,' he told the rest of the team. Lorne looked irritated, 'what has that got to do with it?' he asked.

'Something… apparently,' Fred giggled.

'Lorne,' Angel tried to stand up, but Lilah was pulling him back down on the couch, 'why would you let them do that to you?'

'Well I had to do something!' the empath demon blurted out. He stared around at his friends - and saw their blank, staring faces. They had no idea what it was like. What he had to deal with. He was the centre of gravity in a town full of borderline disorder celebrities and powerbrokers. All that hand holding and ego stroking, 4 am jacuzzi sessions - models pulling out of gigs that you worked your horns off to book for them - he nodded at Cordelia …

Wesley caught Gunn peeing in the corner.

'I just couldn't keep up with it,' Lorne admitted, 'even without sleeping.'

Angel looked concerned - and more than a little put out - Lorne should have come to him, told him he wasn't coping. They could have helped. 'Which is what I'm gonna do now,' he said, standing up. He glanced down and realised he was still completely naked - and hastily grabbed a couch cushion to protect his modesty. Cordelia chuckled to herself. 'It's a good job it was you Lorne told to boff Lilah, and not Doyle. Chicken little hates public nudity. He'd never get over this … he has these recurring dreams about being in the ice cream section at the grocery store…'

'Cara Mia,' Lorne interrupted her. He was rubbing his temples. 'I told you to let your walls down, remember? You need to stop talking, sugar. You'll have been giving away personal info all night - and now you're giving away Doyle's personal info. So zip it - for both your sakes.'

She laughed, 'but I've not been affected,' she told him, 'because I'm the - ' her eyes went wide and round, as her brain caught up with her mouth and then got just ahead of it. 'Oh right. Zipping it.' She mimed pulling a zip across her lips and then throwing it over her shoulder.

As they talked, Angel had worked out a plan. He was sending Fred and Wes down to Wolfram and Hart storage to see if they could find Lorne's sleep and figure out a way to restore it. Wes saluted clumsily and stumbled his way from the room, dragging Fred behind him. Meanwhile, Lorne was to stay inside Angel's office and try not speak to anyone - or at all.

But Lorne could see there was a snag in that plan. The party was still going on out there - it still mattered. Someone had to play host, make sure there was ice in the drinks.

'Oh me me!' Spike stuck his hand in the air, volunteering himself. 'I'm your people person.'

But Angel chose Gunn and Cordy instead. 'Go on the floor - see if anyone else is under the Lorne effect,' he told them.

'I can think of one person, alright,' Cordy muttered - as through the window she watched Doyle dance a very wild and uncoordinated highland fling. She headed out of the door.

'and Gunn -' Angel called after him, 'stop with the…'

He nodded and looked uncomfortable, 'do my best.'

'And Lilah,' he looked down at the last person, 'you stay here with me and we'll have more sex.'

'I'm on it.' She dragged him back down on the couch. Spike perched on the edge of the desk and grinned around the office. 'Brilliant plan,' he gave Angel a thumbs up, 'excellent.'

* * *

Archduke Sebassis and his entourage stood inside the bathroom, his minions examining the destruction. The door was smashed in, the mirror cracked and blue slime was smeared all around the stall; all that remained of Artode. Murder. The Archduke looked grim - so this was what the vampire had planned?

* * *

Wesley and Fred found their way to the Wolfram and Hart Psyche Component Storage Facility. This should be where Lorne's sleep was being kept. The room was filled wall to wall with massive refrigerators with glass doors. They separated and started at opposite ends of the room - searching. 'Lorne's sleep,' Fred muttered in the most serious and determined voice she could muster, 'looking for Lorne's sleep.'

She took hold of the fridge's door handle and held tight on to it to try and steady herself. But when she didn't find what she was looking for immediately, she allowed herself to swing from it. 'You know I think we have pretty interesting lives,' she said to Wesley.

'Oh I should say that's true,' he rushed to agree, 'given the average.'

'And I'm having so much fun right now,' she said, still dangling her weight from the door handle, and grinning. 'We should do stuff like this more often.' She abandoned her search and walked up to Wesley. 'You know - just hang out like we used to. Friend stuff.'

'Absolutely. Frankly I always … I always thought we'd be better friends than we are.'

'Oh we should be! Let's be better friends than we are right now,' she wrapped her arms tight around his neck and giggled. 'You know, share stuff; talk to each other, tell each other what we're thinking ...we could be confidantes. Confiding confidentially.'

'I've been wanting to do that for some time now,' he whispered into her ear.

She pulled away from a little, still laughing, so she could whisper into his ear. 'What do you think about Knox?'

* * *

Cordelia crossed the dance floor and grabbed hold of Doyle. He tried to shake her off to continue his Irish jig - his arms were clamped by his sides but his legs were flailing around like they had a life of their own. 'Doyle - jeez - you need to stop this.' She exerted some of her slayer strength on him to hold him in place. His legs stopped moving and she nodded happily.

'You've been put under a spell,' she told him. 'It's Lorne - he's making people…' she felt him start to moonwalk from out of her grip. 'Quit it!' she yelled, grabbing him again. 'Lorne is magically controlling people. He told you to dance and now you think you're, like, James Brown or something. It's completely tragic - you have to stop.'

Doyle frowned, he was still trying to wiggle to the beat even under her super strength hold on him, though he couldn't really move. 'You know that does kinda makes sense … I've been wonderin' what I'm doin' for a while now.' His legs suddenly buckled underneath him, 'and now I've stopped I'm completely knackered,' he puffed. 'Help me off the dance floor?'

She wrapped her arm around him and started to drag him away from all the other dancing people. He stumbled along and she glanced down at his feet. 'You're skipping,' she told him.

'I'm tryin' to stop myself from dancin' … it's like my brain's sayin' 'no' but my feet aint listenin'.'

'Well maybe if we can just get you into a chair,' she said, scanning the lobby for a seating area. She found what she was looking for and dragged him over to a chair. Lindsey arrived at her side and she asked him to go and get Doyle a drink. 'I'd get it myself,' she explained, 'but I don't trust that, if I leave him alone, he won't be back out there - dancing the foxtrot.'

'It's OK, Cordy,' Doyle told her wearily, leaning back in his seat - his feet still tapping in time to the beat - 'I don't know the foxtrot.'

She sat beside him, one arm wrapped around him to hold him back from the dance floor, the other pinioned to his knee to try and keep his legs from moving. Lindsey arrived with a glass of water and a beer, 'wasn't sure which you'd want,' he said, holding them both up.

Doyle grabbed them both and alternated between the two. Across the room - a group of demons stormed across the dance floor, in high dudgeon, headed for Angel's office. 'I wonder what got their panties in a bunch?' Cordelia wondered.

* * *

The door to Angel's office burst open and Archduke Sebassis, followed by his entourage, marched into the room. They fanned out and levelled crossbows at everyone they found inside. 'What a fantastic entrance!' Spike grinned, from his place on the desk.

Angel, still having sex with Lilah - down on the floor, pulled himself upright. 'Sebassis?'

'The nerve,' The archduke said, his voice cold and furious, 'the raw nerve to lay a hand on one of mine.'

Angel started to pull his pants on hastily, 'what is this?' he glanced around at Spike and Lorne, sitting on the desk, and at Lilah, pulling her own clothes on, behind the couch. None of them seemed to have any idea what had sparked this outrage. 'Lower your weapons,' he demanded of the demon prince.

'These darts are poisoned vampire,' Sebassis told him, ignoring his demands. 'Powerful enough to put you in a coma for a week. Enough to kill any one of them before their next heart beat,' he used his crossbow to gesture towards Lorne and Lilah. 'You murdered Artode. I imagine we were to be next.'

'I didn't murder anybody,' Angel told him grimly, buttoning his pants.

'Dress yourself Angel, you have a public execution to attend.'

Angel pulled on his sweater. 'Big mistake,' he said to the Archduke

There came a piercing scream - from out in the lobby. They all turned to look. 'Move!' Sebassis commanded.

...

Angel, Lilah, Lorne and Spike were frogmarched at crossbow point out into the lobby by Sebassis and his minions. When they got out there, they found the dance floor cleared and a great crowd milling around the hors d'oeuvres table. The people parted, allowing a path through, and the group saw why the woman had screamed.

Devlin - the demon dressed as a 'Human Bean' lay splayed out across the table top, in the middle of the buffet. Dead.

'Oh boy,' Lorne gulped.

'Yeah,' Harmony came to stand next to them, 'someone really dipped his chip.'

Sebassis pointed his crossbow at Angel. Further proof that the vampire had murder in mind. Artode was not the only victim. He wondered how Angel would seek to talk his way out of this one.

'OK Sebassis, I don't know what's going on here - but we are not behind it.'

Outright denials was it? Sebassis would have expected better from a vampire of Angelus' calibre. Clearly the Angel alter ego was as weak and foolish as his soulless half was impressive. 'Enough lies, vampire,' he said.

Lorne tried to take hold of the situation - calm everybody down. He had been the Host at Caritas for years, he could deal with a hairy situation or two … though of course, he'd had the sanctuary spell to help him back then. 'OK, everybody, OK,' he said, 'yes the party's taking an unfortunate turn momentarily so let's not …' Sebassis cocked his weapon, '...fight,' Lorne gulped.

* * *

Wesley and Fred had returned to their searching. Fred was still peering through the shelves of the storage units, whilst Wesley sat at a table and read through a book, trying to research the theory behind what had happened. Though it was hard with his head all fuzzy…

'Sleep disorders,' he trailed his finger down the page, 'Edelmyer complex, eldritch causes, empaths…'

'Hey - it's not just sleep they do here,' Fred called out. She reached inside one of the refrigerators and pulled out a container, holding it up for Wesley to see. 'Madeline Chu in accounting had her ennui removed,' she giggled. She put the container back. 'Hey! Here it is, Lorne's sleep. Now I just have to find the delivery device…' she wandered off across the room, leaving the refrigerator door open.

'This isn't good,' Wesley told her, looking at his book. He began to read it out, 'the effects of long term sleeplessness on the subconscious mind of an empath can be catastrophic.'

Fred stopped what she was doing and looked troubled, 'catastrophic sounds not good,' she agreed.

The gears in Wesley's mind started to whirr - so much slower than usual - like he was stirring treacle - but he was getting there. 'Under normal conditions, Lorne has the ability to read people's destinies. But now I think he's writing them.'

'So, what? Instead of receiving, he's transmitting?'

'And that's just phase one,' Wesley told her, twisting in his seat to peer over his shoulder at her- and nearly losing his balance in the process. He read directly from the book again. 'If you sever the empath from his subconscious for too long, that subconscious can … it can manifest.'

Fred came over to peer at the book. 'What do you mean, 'manifest'?' she asked.

* * *

Sebassis pointed his crossbow, containing his poisoned dart, at Angel. The crowd murmured restlessly, Cordy, Doyle and Lindsey pushed their way through to the front to see what was happening. Lorne raised his hands in surrender. 'Wait, please wait,' he said to the Archduke. 'It's me, I mean - it's not me,' he started to gabble, as he tried to explain how this was both his fault and not his fault at the same time. 'But I haven't been myself lately. Somehow I'm making people do things and I'm controlling them.'

Sebassis swung the point of his weapon away from Angel and levelled it at Lorne instead. The empath demon looked alarmed and backed away, shutting up, immediately.

'Well then, Pylean, you're making me kill you. Is that consistent with your theory?'

Just then there was a loud and angry roar from over head. The crowd looked up and gasped, backing away. Cordelia pushed Doyle behind her.

Up on the landing, which overlooked the lobby, was a gigantic, hulking green creature. It was at least eight feet tall and massively muscular - and very angry. And it was wearing the exact same loud, blue suit and purple shirt as Lorne.

'Oh my god!' Harmony cried out in alarm.

Lorne stared up at the behemoth muscle man, completed dumbfounded. 'It's me!' he said.


	21. Life of the Party: Part Four

_Part Four_

The hulking version of Lorne roared out in anger and then bounded down from the landing, landing on the lobby floor with a heavy thud which reverberated around the room.

'Wow,' Spike stared up the behemoth, a big smile on his face, 'that is one _bitching_ big suit!' The monster roared at Sebassis and then reached out and smacked down one of his entourage, smashing him to the ground. The Archduke fired one of his poisoned darts, but it had no impact on the gigantic Lorne - who just swung his arm out again and smashed another demon.

'Lorne? What the hell is this?' Angel stared between the two green demons, not really believing - never mind understanding - what he was seeing. But Lorne had no answers for him. The empath only stared up in horror and shock at his own monstrous form. 'Stop it! Stop killing! Listen to me … me,' he tried to command. But his monstrous self paid no attention to him.

'Isn't there something you can do?' Lindsey sidled closer to Cordelia and hissed in her ear. 'You're the vampire slayer. You can sort this.'

'Yeah but…' Cordy was stood still, transfixed, 'it's Lorne. I can't kill Lorne! Besides, he's only hurting…' The behemoth swung out again and smacked Lorne across the room. The anagogic demon crash to the floor with a groan. '...demons,' Cordy winced.

Down on the floor, Lorne groaned again. 'Wow I must really hate myself.'

* * *

Many floors beneath, Fred and Wesley stood out in the hallway - waiting for the elevator. Fred was swaying slightly - it felt like the whole world was on a roller … rollercoas… on a big dipper. Wesley sighed with impatience. 'Come on come on come on,' he muttered under his breath - still slurring his words.

'Did you press…' Fred waved a vague hand in the direction of the call button. Wesley glanced down. 'Oh…' he reached out and pressed the button. It lit up. 'Yeah. come on come on come on.'

* * *

The monstrous Lorne bore down on Sebbassis, growling and snarling. Angel shoved the Archduke behind him and then backed away - waiting for his moment. 'Run!' he hissed at Sebbassis - who scurried away, and hid behind a pole, peering out so he could still see what was going on. Whilst he was distracted, his tiny slave snapped the chain that bound him to his master and scampered away through the carnage.

The Lorne Hulk punched out with his mighty fist and smacked Angel to the ground. Gunn picked up one of the heftier Halloween decorations and tried to smash the demon over the head with it. But it was to no avail. The hulk just shoved him away, he flew across the room and landed with a bump next to the actual Lorne. 'Sorry about that,' the empath demon said.

Cordelia was now face to face with the behemoth. It swung at her, and she ducked, dodging behind it, she grabbed it's arm and twisted it up it's back. It roared out in pain and anger, she clung on determinedly but then it used all of its strength to rip its arm back down to its side. The force sent Cordelia hurtling through the air, until she smacked against the opposite wall and slumped to the ground in a crumpled heap.

'Cordelia!' Doyle abandoned the crowd and rushed to his girlfriend's side, Harmony and Lindsey followed him - and between them they got her sitting back up. 'I'm OK,' she murmured, though her eyes were a bit glazed and she seemed a little stunned. 'Really, I'm fine…'

Angel - having seen Cordy get hurt - was now back on his feet and chasing down the monstrosity. Sebassis was fleeing the scene, crawling up the stairs trying to get away and behemoth Lorne was bearing down on him. Angel jumped on the monster's back, pulling him back down to the lobby. They rolled over on the floor and then sprang back to their feet; Angel pummelled at the demon, repeatedly - but it was having no effect.

Amidst the chaos, the elevator bell dinged and the doors slid open, revealing Fred and Wesley inside, their backs to the lobby, peering out at the corridor on the other side in confusion. They stumbled around - and saw the carnage in the lobby. 'It's here, it's manifested!' Wesley mumbled, thickly - pointing rather needlessly at the giant, green monster in the loud, blue suit.

Angel had since been knocked to the floor, and it was the behemoth's turn to pummel him. Wes and Fred stumbled their way across to regular Lorne, who was back on his feet but frozen in place, just watching the fight unfold - his jaw dropped. Fred held a large, silver, gun-like device. She lifted it and took aim.

'Shoot it, Fred, do it now!' Gunn told her, from down on the floor. But instead of aiming at the hulk - she swung her arms round and pressed the barrel of her gun against Lorne's temple - and fired.

'Oh!' he collapsed to the floor.

'Oh my God!' Harmony abandoned Cordy and rushed over to where Lorne was now lying on the ground. 'They shot Lorney tunes!'

'No, I'm OK,' he mumbled. 'I'm just gonna … rest my eyes… a little bit...'

Across the room, the hulk reared back, towering above Angel, to strike the killer blow - it roared out, leaned in … and then exploded in a shower of confetti.

Regular Lorne had begun to snore.

* * *

The sun was just beginning to rise as, yawning, Doyle and Cordelia pushed open the door to their office and stumbled inside. 'Oh - I ache all over,' Doyle complained, collapsing on the green couch, with a sigh, 'and I think I pulled some pretty serious muscles… coffee?' he finished up hopefully.

Cordy hung her jacket up and went to switch the coffee maker on. 'You want any ice for … anywhere?' she asked, raking her eyes over him.

'No - I'm good - I just wanna lie here for about … two weeks,' he closed his eyes.

'You sure? 'Cause - um - those failed splits looked like they might have caused some permanent damage. You know … to … _places_.'

He smiled, but kept his eyes closed. 'I'm OK… but I'm never dancin' again.'

'Good, 'cause if you dance like that at our wedding, then I'm getting one of those Mexican divorce thingies.'

His smile broadened, and he snuggled down further into the couch cushions. The coffee was now ready, and Cordy picked up the coffee pot and poured them a cup each - stirring in a couple of spoonfuls of sugar, but not bothering with milk - it had been a long night. She carried them over to the couch, balanced them on the arm, picked up Doyle's feet, sat down, rested Doyle's feet back in her lap and then handed him his mug. 'Thanks, Princess,' he said, prying open one eye. He struggled upward to drink.

'So how are you?' he asked her, after he'd watched her for a couple of moments. 'That was a pretty nasty - you know - body smash, back there. You sure you're not concussed or somethin'?'

She shook her head, 'I'm fine - I don't ache at all now. I heal pretty quickly these days.' He nodded. She took a sip of her drink, and wrinkled her brow. 'So… what's up?' he asked her, watching her again. 'You're not in pain… like me, so why the furrowed brow?'

'Lorne told me to forget everyone was evil and just let my walls down,' she said, fixing her eyes on her coffee and frowning. 'I spent all night talking to all the evil Wolfram and Hart has to offer … telling them everything about me, us - our mission. _Everything!' _She gripped her cup tighter in her hands, resting her elbows on her knee and slumped forward on the couch. 'We're gonna have to do a lot of damage control,' she said. She blew her cheeks out, 'I'm gonna have to kill a whole lot of Angel's clients.'

'That won't make Gunn too happy.'

'Well, what else can I do?' She twisted to look at him, her eyes wide and her expression exasperated. 'I told people about the visions, about being a slayer, about all our mystery demon deaths… you know, all the stuff we're supposed to be keeping from the other side.'

'Hey - hey - relax!' he said to her, giving her a comforting little nudge with his feet. 'Wolfram and Hart have always known all about us, half the minions of hell that were there will be too blotto to remember _anythin'_ that was said to' em, and the other half will have forgotten about everythin' that wasn't eight feet tall, green and wearin' a blue suit. It'll be fine.'

'Easy for you to say.'

'Yeah it is,' he smiled at her. 'If anythin' comes o' this then… well, we'll kill it when it arrives. But you can't hunt down everyone you spoke to tonight and drive an axe through their skull, just 'cause you were a bit more loose lipped than y' should have been. How is that fair? They won't remember. So you can forget.'

'Some Halloween party,' Cordy muttered, she glanced across at her boyfriend. 'You know every year some idiot says '_nothing happens on Halloween'_ and every year _something_ happens on Halloween. I swear, next year I will snap the neck of the first half wit who dares to say it.'

Doyle chuckled, 'just let me put on my demon face first, love, yeah?' Then he looked thoughtful, 'actually…' he morphed into his spikes, and immediately felt all the aches and pains of the night before begin to recede, as his stronger form came to the fore, 'yeah - that feels much better.' And he finished his coffee in demon face.

* * *

The Halloween party had long since broken up, the guests had gone home and the place was now deserted and scattered with debris of the revelry. Lorne's assistant lay in the middle of the lobby floor, sleeping, whilst the janitorial staff swept around him. Fred stood by the trestle table, collecting the empty glasses.

The little group of Wolfram and Hart lawyers stood by the elevator, waiting to take it down to ground level, their suit jackets slung over their shoulders. 'Got to hand it to 'em,' one of them said, 'that was better than last year.'

The elevator bell rang, the door slid open - and Knox stepped out - as the lawyers stepped inside. He caught sight of Fred, cleaning. 'Uh … we have people to do that,' he said to her.

She looked down at all the glasses she had collected in her hands. 'Oh,' and put them back down again.

'I fixed our baby.'

'_What?_'

He grinned his lopsided, rueful smile and explained his meaning. The stun grenade - he'd worked it out. What he couldn't work out was why he had agreed to work on it that night. It was Fred's turn to smile ruefully. 'Yeah - there's a lot of that going around. I kind of wished you were here.'

That made Knox smile even wider. 'Well the night is still young…' he evaluated his words, 'well, I mean - no - it's … over, actually. But … did you wanna get a cup of coffee?' he asked hopefully.

Fred screwed her face up. 'Actually - I could do with a drink.'

* * *

Inside Angel's office, Wes and Angel had laid Lorne out on the couch and were tucking him up with a blanket, as the rays of morning sunshine came streaming in through the necro tempered glass. Spike and Lilah sat on the desk, watching them. Lorne muttered in his sleep and wriggled a little.

'That thing…' Wesley said slowly, straightening up, 'I think it was a manifestation of Lorne's subconscious. It peeled away from his mind, using Lorne's supernatural powers to punch it's way into our world.'

'Punch being the operative word,' Angel said, he still felt a little sore and tender from the pummelling. 'Why was it trying to kill everyone?'

But Wesley shook his head - he didn't think it was. It was simply processing the conflicts that Lorne normally dealt with in his sleep, acting out the emotional responses he had to the people around him.

'I guess Lorne makes some judgements after all,' Angel said. Wesley nodded. 'How are you?' he asked. It was Angel's turn to nod. 'I'm OK - it feels…' he half glanced towards Lilah, 'a little … you think I should talk to her?'

'What do you want to say?'

He had no answer to that.

'What would you want her to say to you?'

He couldn't answer that either. Wesley nodded, again, 'well - I'll be off,' he glanced over at Spike, 'Spike,' he said, nodding his farewell, '...Lilah.' His tone was cooler as he spoke to her. He headed for the door and she slid off the desk and followed him out, without so much as a backwards glance at Angel. 'Wesley,' she said to him, stopping him as he entered the lobby. He turned back to look at her. 'I thought you might wanna talk,' she said.

'About…?'

'Look - I'm sorry about last night,' she said, lowering her voice, 'you know it doesn't mean … we were under a spell, there's nothing...'

'We don't have to talk about this, Lilah,' Wesley cut her off, 'as long as you are not upset by what happened to you last night, then there is nothing for us to discuss. We are no longer in a relationship.'

'Right,' she nodded sarcastically, and smirked to mask the hurt. 'You're freeing yourself up for something better … well, good luck with that,' and she walked away. Wesley turned to leave - seeing Fred and Knox across the lobby, drinking together and laughing.

...

Gunn stuck his head round the office door, 'hey,' he walked inside, looking over at where Lorne was sleeping before continuing his conversation with Angel. 'I spoke with Sebassis' people, explained what I could.'

'So, what are we looking at?' Angel asked him worriedly. 'Lawsuit? Demon war?'

But Gunn shook his head and smiled. 'No. It seems like they enjoy a little blood sport at their social functions. Looks like we're OK.'

'We're not OK,' Angel disagreed. He waved his arm towards where Lorne was sleeping off the effects of the party. 'We've been so focused on the dangers outside that we didn't see the ones within. This place is trying to change us, Gunn - we can't ever forget that.'

Gunn looked uncomfortable, nodded his head- and then smiled again. 'Pretty damn good party though. I'll see you tomorrow,' he checked his watch. 'Well - today, but … later today. Oh - and your chair...'

'What?'

'Don't sit in it, I already called janitorial.'

Angel looked worried, 'why can't I…?'. Spike, still sitting on the desk, peered over to look at the chair and then sat back up with a great, big grin on his face. 'You pissed in the big man's chair?' he smirked in delight. 'That's fantastic!'

Gunn sighed. 'Spike, can you please turn off that warm fuzzy?'

'What? The Lorne thing? Wore off,' he grinned again, 'I just think that's bloody fabulous!'

'All right guys,' Angel looked sternly round at them both, 'good night, Let Lorne get some sleep alright?' Gunn nodded and headed out. Angel eyeballed Spike, 'out,' he said.

'All right,' he slithered down from the desk, 'just this once.'

Once he was left alone with his sleeping friend, Angel pulled the blanket tighter across him - making sure he was warm. 'Mmm, I'm sorry…' Lorne mumbled in his sleep.

'Hey, It's OK Lorne,' Angel whispered, crouching down beside him and making sure that the pillows looked comfy. 'Just try and get some rest. Get some sleep.'

'It's - it's hard being the host of the party. Yeah…'

'Stop trying to be,' Angel whispered. And, sure that his friend was as comfy as possible on the sofa, he headed up to his own apartment for some much needed sleep.

* * *

The sun had gone down and the stars were out - presumably, not that they were ever visible in L.A - and the building was empty, when Doyle heard the distant sound of someone on the roof. He smiled to himself, grabbed a bottle of whisky and two glasses and headed up there - groaning and wincing with every step. He still felt tender. 'You back again?' he asked, as he pushed open the access door and stepped out onto the flat roof of the office block.

'Yeah,' Angel replied, not even turning to look.

'I brought drinks this time,' he held up the bottle and glasses, 'I think we both need 'em - after last night.' He arrived beside Angel, put the tumblers and whisky down on the ledge and then poured them a glass each.

'Thanks,' Angel took his drink, 'I mean - for coming, last night. It meant a lot that you were there.'

'Well we came for the moral support,' Doyle gulped down his drink and then grimaced as the burning liquid hit the back of his throat. 'You've been havin' it tough … not that we were much use in the end. Once I got hit with Lorne's mojo I was making out like I was Fred Astaire and you - well… uh … Cordy filled me in on what you were gettin' up to.' He poured them another drink.

'Yeah - well - I guess everything's an even bigger mess than it was before. And things were pretty messed already.'

'Ah - you'll sort it through - everythin' this family's been through? I think we can take a bit more drama - we always bounce back. Always make it right in the end - look at us. Eighteen months ago...' he chuckled ruefully, 'we wouldna be stood here havin' this chat eighteen months ago. And now here we are … back the way it's supposed to be. Or - you know - near enough. It'll all come out right in the end.'

But Angel shook his head and furrowed his brow. 'I'm not sure,' he said heavily. 'This time… in that place… with everything that's happened before, we were always the same people. Sure we argued, made mistakes - sometimes huge, terrible mistakes - caused the occasional, needless death… but we were always us, you know? All of us. Champions. So we always found our way back to each other. But now - that place gets inside of you, Doyle. It's twisting us, into different shapes, into different people. Soon we won't be the people we were when we went in - and then I don't know who we'll be. Corrupted. Changed. Too busy looking at the bigger picture to see the very people we were supposed to help. And that's exactly what The Senior Partners want.'

'Then that's what you gotta fight,' Doyle turned around, pulled himself up so he was sitting on the ledge and drummed his heels against the wall. 'If you think that's what their game is - then that's what you need to be on guard for. Keep lookin' at them little people, bud.'

'I don't think it's that simple … the changes are inside of us. How do you fight yourself?'

Doyle only laughed, 'you're talkin' to the expert in self fightin', here, man. It's hard - and it's all too easy to lose sight of who y' really are. Let y'self drown.' He looked Angel in the eye. 'But there's always a way back,' he said. 'If y' want it - if y' willin' to fight for it, y' can always get back to who you really are - especially if you've got your friends to help you out.' He poured them both another drink - and then raised his glass in a toast - and smiled.

Angel sighed - and then smiled back. 'So … is Cordy OK?' he asked, 'that was nasty, the way she got thrown across the room like that.'

'Yeah she's fine … she's a pretty tough cookie.'

'That she is,' his smile was warm now. 'And she did really well - twisting Gigana- Lorne's arm back and holding on like that, she did the best of any of us.'

Doyle sipped his whisky. 'Yeah…' he said slowly.

'Did she go home already?'

'Back to Dennis,' her boyfriend nodded.

'You - uh,' he finished his drink, 'you not talked about moving in together yet.'

'Not yet - I need to but…'

'It's hard,' Angel finished up for him.

'Yeah…' He poured them both a fourth drink - and they stayed up on the rooftop for hours, until the bottle was half finished, just talking - the way they had in the early days, back in the very beginning.

* * *

**A/N Next episode is 'The Cautionary Tale of Numero Cinco **


	22. The Cautionary Tale of Numero Cinco:P1

**The Cautionary Tale of Numero Cinco**

_Part One_

Angel tucked Connor into his little bed and sat down beside him, with a deep sigh. 'Story', the little boy demanded.

'It's bedtime little buddy, you gotta go to sleep - or else you'll be all cranky in the morning.' He sighed again - wishing that a decent night's sleep would be all it took to stop him feeling so cranky these days.

'Story,' Connor insisted, shaking his head and refusing to close his eyes.

'Well - OK, but close your eyes first,' he waited a moment whilst his tiny son obediently shut his eyes - and unconsciously lodged his thumb into his mouth. 'This is a story my Mom used to tell me,' Angel said to him, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. 'Back when I was a boy - a long, long time ago now. It's the story of Lugh - a warrior king in the Tuatha Dé Danann. He was a brave and mythic hero…' he paused for a moment, 'a champion,' he said quietly. He closed his own eyes. 'He went into battle wielding a fiery spear - and he had loyal hound named - uh - _Failinis_.' It had been a long time since Angel had thought of his mother, and even longer since he had thought of her stories - and he realised all the myriad things he had learned across the world, throughout his eternal life, had driven some of the details to the very far corner of his mind.

'He was the bravest and wisest of all the old gods … and the fiercest fighter. There was this one time,' he frowned as he mentally reached to find the details, 'He took his people into battle against the most dangerous enemy…' _bad things always happen here, _'they were monsters, creatures of evil, slithered out from the sea and spreading fear and terror throughout the land. These creatures were led by a monster called … Balor. And he had - uh - well, he had this eye, see? It was - um poisonous - yeah, it killed everything that it looked upon. And Lugh's army, well, they didn't want to go into this fight - they were afraid. But Lugh spoke to them all - he gave them a speech that filled their hearts with courage and lifted their spirits until they all felt like kings…' He sighed and came to a halt … he had just been about to give a speech to his own warriors when Lilah had appeared, contract in hand, and taken him prisoner.

Connor stirred in the bed, and Angel remembered himself and carried on talking. 'So they went into battle against the monsters - and many of them died. But just as Balor was gonna open up his poisonous eye and slay the whole army, Lugh used his slingshot and knocked the eye clean out of Balor's head. Woosh - splat - just like that. It landed in the middle of the army of monsters - looking up at them - and they were all killed instead. So the army went home - and Lugh ruled the land for forty years.'

He opened his eyes - the rhythmic, steady breathing told him Connor was now sleeping. His little face was flushed and his thumb was still in his mouth. Angel leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, before gently tugging his thumb out and tucking his hand under the covers. 'Sleep tight, little buddy.'

He needed to get back downstairs. There was work to do, cases to solve, lives to... save - he guessed. If that's what you could call what they did here. But instead, he stayed where he was - watching Connor sleep. He reached out and stroked his hair - and had a sudden image of his mother doing the same to him, back when he was a tiny boy in Galway - snug in bed in their little house, the light from her candle throwing dark, flickering shapes against the walls - looking like the shadows of the monsters themselves. She had always known lots of stories - and told them much better than he did - about the Celtic heroes of the olden days, and the saints of the newer days. Always stories of warriors and champions and good triumphing over evil.

He sighed again. They were just fairy stories. Children's stories. That wasn't the way the world worked, even if he tried to kid himself - tried to pretend he lived in the world as it should be to show it what it can be. That wasn't him any more. He didn't help the hopeless - he ran Wolfram and Hart. All these years, he had been like a child - playing at being a champion, not understanding the truth of the world - where the real power lay. He'd gone from being a fairy tale monster to a fairy tale hero - and never realised that none of it mattered. Now he got it. He didn't like it - but he got it. Heroes were for stories. The shades of grey was where the grownups lived. And there was no happy ending, no shining moment when the deed was finally done and the tale finished being told - there was just more of the same. For eternity …

He needed to get back to work.

* * *

The security guard shone his flashlight around as he did his rounds. The warehouse was dark and creaky. He passed by a fence with a keep out sign. Ignoring the sign, he carried on - only coming to a stop when he heard a noise. He shone his flashlight again, the sound was coming from the basement. He headed across to the stairs, speaking into his C.B radio as he did. 'This is Henderson. South side's basement door is open. I'm gonna check it out.'

There was a crackle over the airwaves, and then a voice replied, 'OK, copy that.'

Henderson began to take the stairs, carefully, one at a time - his flashlight held in front of him. A shadow suddenly loomed out of the darkness and pulled back - before the light from his torch revealed the figure of man. 'Whoa! Jeez, Carlos,' Henderson was breathing heavily - but chuckling. 'Thanks for the heart attack!'

'Right back at ya! Had to swap out that septic pipe.' Carlos said.

'Mmm - well on behalf of a grateful nation…'

Carlos laughed and walked past him - up the stairs. Back towards the main warehouse. Henderson got back on his radio, 'mystery solved,' he said, 'found a crazed plumber...' he stopped talking as he suddenly heard Carlos cry out. He ran up the stairs to investigate and, in the darkness, could just make out the shape of an immensely large man attacking the plumber. He ran towards them, 'Halt!' he cried out. But the attacker just threw Carlos to one side and swatted the flashlight from Henderson's hand. Then it struck out at the guard, knocking him to the floor.

In the uneven, jumping light of his fallen torch, he could just make out glimpses of the man … it wasn't a man - it had - claws… and teeth like he'd never seen. It wore a helmet - and it was bearing down on him, it's wild eyes blazing in the torchlight. Henderson backed up, scooching along the ground, trying to get away from ... _it. _'No - don't!'

But the creature came at him - reached out those sharp claws and slashed him right across the torso. Henderson screamed.

* * *

Cordelia walked into the office, her purse slung over her shoulder and a half caf non-fat skinny latte in her hand. Doyle was sat in the chair behind the desk, he had steepled his fingers, resting his index fingers on his lips, and his brow was furrowed. He seemed to be concentrating very hard. 'What on earth are you doing?' she asked him.

He looked up, shaking his head slightly, and looking surprised to see her there. 'Oh -um - I was - um … pretendin' to be Angel… actually.'

She laughed, 'you really have the whole knitted eyebrows thing down… Is there any particular reason you're pretending to be broody boy?'

'I was just tryin' to think like him,' Doyle shrugged, 'you know,' he gestured towards their crime board. 'We're stumped Cordy, we've not had a lead in weeks. I've not had a vision. I was just tryin' to work out what Angel would do next. You know?'

'He'd probably beat up some little snitch demon,' Cordelia suggested. 'You want me to go out and…?'

'No one knows anythin' - we've tried all that.'

'Then he's probably start drawing obsessively - you want me to get you a pad and a pen?'

He smiled. 'Nah - I'm not so good at workin' with my hands.'

Cordy quirked an eyebrow. 'Oh I don't know about that,' she crossed the office and sat down on his lap, draping an arm around his neck. 'You do have your moments … and I don't know if I've told you this lately but I'm really _really_ glad you're not Angel. So don't go too method with your imitation.'

'Yeah?' He looked pleased.

'Yeah.' She leaned in and gave him a kiss, nearly spilling her coffee on him, as she did - but she realised her cup was tilting in the nick of time and pulled back. She withdrew her arm from around his neck and put the latte on the desk, before plonking her bag beside it and drawing out the mail from inside. 'I picked this up on the way in,' she told him, 'more bills.'

'Yeah? Can we pay 'em?'

'Well - they're not on their final notice yet - so we don't have to. But - money isn't coming in as fast as we would like, or at all. And we don't wanna get evicted. Again. We are gonna have to find a way to start cutting down on expenses.'

Doyle nodded slowly - and felt his stomach twist into knots. It was time to talk to her. Time to have that conversation … but she wasn't gonna like it.

* * *

The sun shone down through the necro-tempered glass, as another day got underway at Wolfram and Hart. The mailman pushed his cart down the corridors - same as every day - handing out packages, delivering letters and taking items to post in return. He was an elderly man, bent almost double over his cart - the only remarkable thing about him was the Mexican wrestling mask he wore - every day - red and blue, with a white number five daubed on the forehead. He had worked for the company for years - in lots of different offices - had returned to the L.A branch once it was rebuilt, after the disaster last year. He spoke to nobody and nobody spoke to him - and that was the way it had always been … until this morning.

'Ok - umm - professional opinion?' Lorne stopped number 5 in the corridor and held up two greetings cards. 'Sexy soccer mama or brainy beauty?' The mailman peered at him from beneath his mask. 'You're an ageing sexpot celebrating a decade of turning 29,' Lorne explained his dilemma - as number 5 continued to stare at him blankly. 'You got 2 little rugrats that aren't that little, a husband who thinks the extra's trailer is a buffet table and gravity aint doing you any favours… so,' he held the greetings cards out, 'Happy Birthday sexy mama or…' he cut himself off as he saw Fred walk down the corridor towards him. 'Fred, hey Fred, sweetie, you're sorta like a woman.'

Fred frowned, 'oh - that's not a compliment,' she said.

'Well - I mean more so than El Cid here.'

The mailman rolled his eyes. Lorne launched back into his dilemma, explaining it again for Fred. She cut him off - she'd heard already. 'Don't send a card,' she told him, 'don't mention her birthday. Send her a big bunch of flowers just because she's wonderful and special and eternally blah de blah.'

'Ha! Staring me right in the face! Genius.' Lorne chuckled. Number 5 pushed his cart round him and continued on his rounds. 'And I'm a lot like a woman,' Fred said to Lorne, as she walked away.

'Oh you're all woman! You're everywoman! You're Wonder Woman!'

'Damn straight!'

* * *

Angel sat at the conference table in his office whilst Gunn handed him paper after paper to sign. He had been given a very fine and fancy pen to do this but … he was still sighing deeply as he worked. He scrawled his name one more time - and squinted down at the rich, red colour of the ink. He sniffed. 'Is that blood?'

'Yeah but it's OK, it's yours.'

'Huh.' he signed another contract. 'How is that OK again?'

Gunn reached out and took the now signed contracts away from him. 'Demon law requires blood signatures on all legal documents. As CEO and President of Wolfram and Hart, you just bankrupted a company that dumps raw demon waste into Santa Monica Bay, banished a clan of pyro warlocks into a hell dimension and started a foster care programme for kids whose parents have been killed by vampires. Not bad for a day's pay.'

'Yeah … great,' Angel said, but his stare was blank and his voice unenthused. Gunn shuffled the papers so they were stacked neatly and raised an eyebrow at his boss. 'Look I know legal weasels and business deals aren't as heroic as rescuing young honey's from tumescent trolls in dark alleys - but I love what we do here. You know, for the first time in my life I can't wait to get to work in the morning? You've always had your special powers. Now I have mine.'

'Isn't that special!' Spike's sneering voice cut in from the end of the conference table, where he was balancing, his arms crossed against his chest and a scowl on his face. 'We all have special powers. Anybody wanna trade? I'll swap you - two for one. Walking through walls, picking up mugs…' he focused all his concentration onto the mug in front of him and gripped it by the tips of his fingers - lifting it a few inches off the table. 'In exchange for - I dunno - _how about me not being dead?'_

'How about you not being here?' Angel snapped.

'If wishes were horses.'

With a deep sigh, Angel slammed his chair back from the table and got to his feet. He strode over to the window and stared out - his brow lowered, his eyes dark. Gunn watched him, 'are you OK?' he asked, sounding a little worried. Angel had been in a funk for … months now. And it only seemed to be getting deeper.

Angel shrugged his shoulders but didn't look around. 'Yeah, fine. Like you said - not bad for a day's pay.'

Gunn and Spike exchanged a look - and then Gunn got to his feet and carefully approached the brooding vampire. 'Look, I know you hate working here,' he said gently. 'What with the bureaucracy and the fact that most of our employees want us dead… but in house attacks are down 30% this week. And we've done more good here in a month than Angel Investigations did in a year.'

Angel's scowl only deepened. Maybe that was true - on paper. But at what cost? What was lost in the balance? What evil had they enabled, aided and abetted at the same time? He reckoned someone, somewhere probably had a great, big spreadsheet with the figures divided into columns - bloodless and bureaucratic. Just numbers on a page. Not lives and people, with hopes and dreams and loved ones. And as long as the numbers for good just edged over the numbers for bad they could shrug their shoulders, look the other way. They were still ahead by the numbers. It was those shades of grey - this whole place was like living in an anaemic, slate coloured hell. He missed the monochrome of AI. The black and the white - the good and the evil - the champions and the monsters. The clarity that came with purpose He wondered what Cordy and Doyle were up to today.

'Angel?' Gunn said to him, as he didn't answer and the silence lengthened.

'What?...' he shook his head, 'I know - I know… I'm just, I don't know - feeling a bit … disconnected.'

'Are you serious?' Spike sounded incensed. 'Here you are - finally living a piece of the high life: new clothes, new cars, my old tumble fetching you tasty snacks and what's your gripe? "I feel disconnected." You wanna feel disconnected, try being a bloody ghost for a bit. Try bobbing around with no touch or taste or smell. Not many worse fates than that I'd wager.' The old mail guy pushed his cart into the office, just as Spike finished his diatribe, '...OK maybe that,' the ghost conceded, nodding at number 5's slumped figure.

'I know what you're saying about the disconnect,' Gunn told Angel, as the mail guy put Angel's post on his desk and started to collect the outgoing packages. 'Much as I love the legalese, gotta admit, I miss mixing it up sometimes. Miss getting my hands dirty you know?'

'Then you'll be interested in this,' Wesley appeared in the doorway carrying a report. Three people had been found in East Los Angeles, each with their hearts cut out, all in the last few hours. The mailman froze as he listened to the watcher speak. 'The police are on it,' Wesley told the team, 'but my sense is it's more demonic than some murderous nutjob.'

Number 5 pushed his cart back through the door - just as Spike quipped about ruling out demonic nutjobs. But Gunn had the last of his contracts, ready for posting, still on the table. 'Yo you missed one,' he called after the retreating mail guy - but number 5 did not stop or even slow down.

'I'll get it,' Angel took the envelope and hurried out of the office, following number 5 down the corridor. 'Wait wait!' he caught the old man up and grabbed his arm. 'Hold up for a second!'

Number 5 twisted beneath his grip - so they were facing each other, and then clutched Angel around the throat - lifted him up in the air and launched him through the plate glass window. Then he turned back to his mail cart and continued his rounds.

Lying on the floor of his office, flat on his back, surrounded by the wreckage of the now shattered window, Angel sighed his deepest sigh yet. 'I really hate this place.'

* * *

An awkward silence hung over the office. Cordelia had climbed out of Doyle's lap and retreated to the far corner - where she was looking troubled and defensive. Doyle stayed in his chair and watched her, anxiously. 'I don't know what to say,' she said, eventually. She ran her hands through her hair, pushing it away from her face. 'I don't … I mean - what do you want me to say?'

'I don't want you to say anthin',' Doyle said softly. 'It's just … I mean it had to happen - you know - logically. We _are _gettin' married.'

'Don't logic me,' she gave him an irritated glance and sat down on the green sofa. She rested her elbows on her knees and her fists on her cheeks - but she still kept throwing angry glances at Doyle. 'I mean - what you're asking…'

'I'm not askin'...'

'You mean you're _telling?_' she sounded outraged.

'No - I don't…' he sighed, 'I'm _suggestin_' - Cordelia. That's all. We're gonna get married soon - and it is normal for a married couple to live together. Plus we gotta find ways to cut back on expenses- and this would half our rent. More than half. You know - this makes financial sense and it's kinda inevitable anyway. The Green card people will not look too kindly on me being married to a woman I don't even live with. They're really strict on that sort o' thing.'

She looked annoyed. 'But our relationship is real.'

'I know - but it won't look that way to the authorities. This is the next step we had to take anyway. I mean, I love you Cordy, you know? I wanna live with y' - it's not just about paperwork and expenses. I want us to be together - properly. I wanna wake up every day with you next to me and go to bed at night with you by my side. I want you to be the first and last person I see everyday - for the rest o' my life. But … there are some logical and rational reasons behind it too. You normally love all that stuff! Ways we can save money, or beat the system, just by bein' together. This is … I want this to happen, Cordy. And I want you to want it as well.'

'I do, I do - it's just …' she ran her hands through her hair again. 'You're talking about me leaving Dennis.'

Doyle glanced down. 'I know,' he said quietly.

'He's like - he's like my best friend. More than that. He's been there for me when… when everything happens. When I kicked you out, when Angel was missing - and then when he was evil … no matter how badly screwed up my life became, Dennis was always there.'

'I know,' he said again, even more softly.

'And now you just want me to leave him? What will happen to him?'

'Well - he's a ghost. I guess he'll stay in the apartment and just … room with the new tennent.'

'And I'll never see him again.'

'...No.'

She sighed and got to her feet. 'I don't wanna talk about this,' she said.

'Cordelia-'

'No.' she held out a hand, cutting him off. 'No - just drop it OK? We have work to do. Let's get on with that.'

* * *

Angel sat up slowly, looking around at all the fragments of broken glass now littering the floor. Wesley and Gunn converged on him, wanting to know what had happened and if he was OK. He rubbed his neck. 'The mail guy threw me,' he told them.

'Number 5?' Spike's face lit up in wicked delight, 'isn't he like a hundred years old?'

Angel got back to his feet, 'well it's hard to tell - what with the mask and everything.'

Gunn was already on his phone, speaking with security - telling them to lock the place down and search for the mail guy.

'Why did he attack you?' Wesley asked, sounding confused. But Angel was just as confused as he was. 'I was trying to give him mail? Look - this is just a thing … maybe I just startled him or something.' He wanted to brush the whole thing under the carpet. But Spike had other ideas. 'Hey Fred, did you hear the news?' he asked brightly - still grinning his devilish smile as she came into the office, 'Angel attacked the old mail guy.'

Fred looked horrified, 'not number 5!' she stared at Angel with disappointment and not a little anger. 'You didn't hurt him?'

'What? No - he attacked me!'

Gunn's cell phone rang - security had found him and were now escorting him off the premises. Her hung up the phone and looked across at Angel, 'you do wanna fire his masked ass don't you?'

'Umm - I don't …'

'I think it's for the best,' Wesley counselled.

'Look - I'm fine. Let's just get back to the bodies…' but again he was denied this, as Lorne walked into the office and raised his eyes at the debris, 'holy tornadoes it's true.'

'Yeah - it was amazing,' Spike told him, 'Angel went right off at the mail guy.'

'This must have been one major smackdown,' Lorne nodded - glancing around at the shards of broken glass now scattering the floor of the office.

'There was no smacking,' Angel tried to say - but this was not the hubbub going around the firm. The word on the web had Angel suckerpunching old Grandpa Moses - but Lorne already had his flak catcher spinning this into PR gold. Once the word was spread that he had beaten up an old man - well their enemies would think twice about going toe to toe with the avenging Angel.

'Yes - the geriatric community will be soiling their nappies when they hear you're on the case,' Spike said seriously, giving Angel a thumbs up, 'bravo.'

'I didn't beat anybody up, OK?' Angel snapped at his team, irritably. 'Now can we get back to what's important like - Wes' bodies.'

A woman came in and handed a report to Wesley, he took it from her and read it. 'A fourth body has just been found,' he told the rest of them. 'This one was in a church after an All Souls mass.'

'All souls?' Angel asked.

'Prayers for the departed,' Wesley said, 'today was a special service. It's the Mexican Day of the Dead.'

* * *

Once night had fallen, Angel and the men took one of his new cars from the car pool - a classic red convertible - and drove, top down, towards the scene of the latest killing. Spike was in the passenger seat whilst Wes and Gunn were crammed in the back, clutching their weapons. 'Still don't see why blondie ghost tagged along,' Gunn muttered.

'Not much choice really is there?' Spike said to him, from the front - not even bothering to turn around. 'Can't drink, smoke, diddle my willy. Doesn't leave much to do other than watch you blokes stumble around playing Agatha Christie.'

'Remind me again why you got the front seat,' Wesley said. Spike smirked. 'Called shotgun, mate.' Wesley glanced down at the shotgun in his hands. 'Oh - I thought we were doing a weapons check.'

'Nothin' wrong with that,' Gunn raised his axe, 'we might need these bad boys if we're goin' up against some Mexican Day of the Dead heartsucking monster.'

Wesley leaned forward in his seat so he could talk to Angel, give him directions for where they were headed. 'Angel, the church were looking for is about half a mile…' But, with a squeal of tyres, Angel suddenly swerved the car off the road - screeched the car to a halt and jumped over the door, headed into an alleyway and leaving the rest of the team in the car, without so much as a word to them. Spike rolled his eyes, 'always was a bit of a drama queen,' he said to the men crammed in the back.

...

They got out of the car and followed Angel down the dark alleyway, finding him standing over yet another body. This one was lying in a pool of blood, their chest ripped open. 'Too late,' Spike sighed.

'So you what, heard his scream?' Gunn asked Angel. Angel tutted and looked away. 'He smelled the blood,' Spike told the men, his own eyes fixed on the shredded body. 'Nothing grabs a vamp's attention like the ruby red.'

Wesley crouched down and began to examine the corpse. 'His heart's been removed,' he said, confirming that this was yet another kill by the demon they were hunting. 'Looks like it was cut out with some kind of crude knife and - based on the blood spatters - I'd say it was still beating when it was removed.'

'The blood's still fresh,' Angel told them all - the metallic tang in the confined space was almost overpowering. 'This just happened.'

'So whatever did this might still be close,' Wesley mused, getting back to his feet.

'How close?' Gunn asked. The three of them were still staring down at the body. Only Spike had turned away. 'Oh - about ten, eleven feet,' the ghost said, staring over his shoulder at the snarling, eight foot, armoured demon creeping up on them.

* * *

Cordelia switched her computer off. 'I'm calling it a night,' she said, 'going home.'

'Cordelia -' it had been an awkward day all round. They had had no need to leave the office: no visions, no demons, no clients - no excuse to get out. They had worked steadily - and for the most part silently - on their respective computers trying to find out anything about their demon victims or what might be hunting them. They had not found much - and any reason they had had to speak to each other had resulted in stilted and strained conversation. Doyle's suggestion lay over them like an oppressive cloud, smothering all the oxygen out of the atmosphere. But now she was headed home - it seemed right to mention it again.

But Cordelia was not eager. 'I don't wanna talk about this Doyle, OK?' she said. 'I'm going home - and I'll see you in the morning.' She grabbed her bag, and then hesitated by the doorway - before relenting and heading back to Doyle and giving him a swift goodbye kiss. 'I'll see you in the morning,' she repeated.

'Will you at least think about it?' he asked her.

'I - I don't know,' she headed back to the door.

'Cordy - wait,' he got to his feet and shuffled them awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets. She turned back to look at him. 'Uhm - I know you're worried about Dennis,' he said to her, not daring to make eye contact, 'about what he'll do if you leave him… you know, whoever moves in next - they might not be so understandin' - or relaxed about sharin' house space with someone that's dead. I know you're worried he'll be lonely.'

'Well he's my best friend,' she sniffed, 'I'm all he has - it's my job to worry about things like that.'

'I know,' Doyle nodded, his voice was uncomfortable. 'And that you care so much is one o' the things I love most about you but … I was thinkin' … maybe you wouldn't have to leave him. Maybe he could - could leave you.'

She looked confused. 'What the heck are you talking about?'

He shuffled his feet again, and cleared his throat. 'Well - uhm - I was thinkin' … he's been dead for over fifty years now - never left the apartment. I mean, does he really wanna be there forever - literally for all eternity? We know there are afterlife dimensions - Buffy went to one. Don't you think - maybe - he might be happier in one o' those?'

'What are you suggesting?' Her tone was coldly suspicious - but Doyle cleared his throat again and ploughed on. 'Uh - I was thinkin' - maybe we could … I dunno. Help him cross over? He is - well he is _dead_, Cordy. And a heavenly dimension - I really think that would be a better place for him to be. He can't move on any other way. You were always gonna move on - one way or the other - and he was always gonna be stuck there, waitin' for whoever came next. And then they'd move on - over and over… that's not much of an unlife. But in an afterlife? He could be with his own kind.'

'_His own kind?'_

Doyle gulped and nodded, 'yeah - y'know - dead people. I really think it might be kinder - on both of y' - if y' both allowed each other to move on - move forward.'

'I don't know,' she sighed deeply - a crease appeared between her eyebrows and she frowned. 'Do I have to think about this right now?'

Doyle shook his head and sat back down. 'No,' he said, 'not right now. But maybe - maybe consider it over the next couple o' days, yeah? Give yourself time to think and I'll … I'll research the ritual - so we're ready - if you decide… but - you know, take as long as you need. No pressure.'

'Right - no pressure,' she repeated. But her voice was heavy. She sounded like someone who already knew the answer - and didn't like it at all - so would delay making a decision, and end up only stringing out the misery. 'Well,' she shouldered her bag and raised her hand in a little wave, 'I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Doyle.'

He nodded. 'Night princess.'

* * *

The gang were now face to face with the demon. It was dressed in old, burnished armour - a breastplate and a plumed helmet. It had lots of pointed, vicious looking teeth and burning eyes. It's skin was yellowish and wrinkled. It carried a sword.

Angel raised his own sword and parried the first blow from the demon. Their blades clashed mid air - they swung again - but after a few blows the demon managed to overpower the vampire and throw him down the alleyway. He landed on a pile of wet, cardboard boxes and rolled over, groaning.

Wesley aimed his gun at the giant demon and pulled the trigger. He let off three rounds, but the bullets did not slow down the monster and, like Angel, Wesley found himself having his weapon yanked from his hand and then himself flying through the air.

Gunn swung his axe and buried it in the demon's back - the creature shrieked in pain and Gunn grinned, 'how do you like that, Sparky?' But the demon was not killed and it simply turned on the man, snarling. 'OK - next time I'll hang onto the axe,' Gunn said - as the demon swung a punch at him, backing him into a corner.

Spike looked around for a weapon of his own. He saw a plank of wood lying on the floor and reached down to pick it up. 'Now - focus,' he commanded himself, willing his incorporeal fingers to connect with the 2x4. He stood up and swung with all his strength at the demon's head - nothing happened. His hands were empty. He glanced down and saw the plank of wood still lying on the floor, undisturbed. 'Bloody useless!'

Angel was back on his feet and headed for the demon - the demon looked around at the four warriors and then pushed a dumpster down the alley, heaving it in Angel's direction, before running away.

* * *

Back in the lab, Fred put the blade of Gunn's axe under a magnifying glass and began to examine the blood. 'We shot it, chopped it, hacked and whacked it,' Gunn explained to her. 'The only souvenir we got was the gunk on this blade. Thought you might do some tests.'

'Sure,' she nodded, frowning as she examined the demon's blood. 'Maybe hematological … cellular RH enzymes ...obviously a full SMA20.'

'...obviously,' Gunn agreed - his face blank. He shook his head. 'Give me a shout when you know something, OK?'

She nodded, he left the lab and she got back to work. She was just placing a sample beneath the microscope when Spike materialised inside the lab. 'If you're trying to find out what this thing's made of, it's gonna take a while,' she warned him.

But he shook his head, he wasn't interested in that. He was just trying to put as much distance between himself and general grumpypants as his ghost leash would allow. Fred smiled sympathetically, 'he just gets like that sometimes. Not easy being a champion - you now that.'

'Really don't,' he raised a sardonic eyebrow.

'Come on! You saved the world, sacrificed yourself, closed a hellmouth...'

'Didn't do much really,' he admitted. His voice was quiet - as he thought about his so called moment of heroism, of the wrong impression Fred was getting of what he had done. He couldn't lie to Fred - couldn't bring himself to pretend he was more of a champion than he really was, there was just something about the bird that made him want to be honest. He wanted her to see him clearly - not through some rose tinted spectacles, making him out to be like Angel - when the reality couldn't be farther from the truth.

There was no trace of his knowing smirk, of his trademark swagger and bravado as he remembered those final moments with Buffy - and what his role had been. 'Just stood there... Let the fire come,' he said softly, his voice serious, for once, as he reflected on how passive his one act of great sacrifice had been. 'Nothing real heroic about that.'

Fred looked unconvinced, she smiled at him warmly. 'Well, you saved my life.'

He smiled back at her, matching her warmth. 'When you put it that way…'

* * *

Wesley was in his office, surrounded by his books and his assistants. One was working on a computer, one was making a sketch of the demon based off Wesley's description and another was cross referencing the weapons list with Aztec and Incan artefacts. Wes glanced at the photofit. 'less reptilian,' he told the sketch artist. 'And the mouth was larger. Think bird of prey meets demonic gladiator.' He picked up one of his template books and whispered a title to the spine. 'Xiochimayan codex.' He opened the book and watched the writing appear on the pages.

'How are we doing?' Angel asked him, walking in.

'Based on the creature's appearance and weaponry, I'm focusing my team on pre-Hispanic texts. Specifically Mesoamerican.'

Angel nodded. 'Good.'

'We're not there yet - but I'm confident.'

'Yeah I can see that,' he looked around the office, at the hive of activity - everybody with a specific task to complete and a direction to take. And all that knowledge and resources right at their fingertips - making everything so much quicker than when it was just Wes at the Hyperion with his pile of dusty old books. 'You'll find it. We'll figure a way to stop it. And then … then I'll stop it … 'cause that's what we do.'

Wesley looked up from his text and gave him a searching look, as if divining something was wrong but was not sure what. Angel only shrugged. 'I'll be in my office,' he said and turned to leave. Wesley carried on reading. After a moment, he became aware of the sensation of being watched - of someone peering over his shoulder from a short distance.

'I wasn't aware you could read cuautilhian pictograms,' he said, without looking up.

'Who me?' It was Spike. 'Nah - I was just … is this one of those books on prophecies?'

But Wesley shook his head. This was one of his source books - a template that linked up to every text in the Wolfram and Hart archive. This particular book was linked to historical narratives. He pointed to another book, lying on a table - that was the one that dealt with prophecies.

Spike wandered over to the table and looked at the book, he ran his fingers across the cover - though failed to make contact. He glanced over his shoulder, back at Wesley. 'So you could look up that - ah - sans shoe thingamabob …You know, the prophecy that says Angel gets to be a real boy again?'

Wesley looked up from his text and frowned. 'Shanshu prophecy, yes - though it's a bit more complicated than that.'

'Complicated?'

Wesley sighed. 'It tells of an epic, apocalyptic battle, and a vampire with a soul who plays a major role in that battle. And there's a suggestion that the vampire will get to live again.'

'When you say "plays a major role in an apocalyptic battle",' Spike said, trying to sound casual, 'do you mean like - um - heroically closing a hellmouth that was about to destroy the world?'

Wesley gave him a pitying look, 'the text isn't specific about the battle,' he said.

'But it's specific about the name of the vampire with a soul?'

The watcher shook his head. 'No - I imagine it could be any vampire with a soul … who isn't a ghost.'

Spike snorted in derision. 'It's a bunch of nonsense. It's a bedtime story to get vampires to play nice.'

Wesley bit back a smirk and returned his gaze to his book. 'Says you.'

'No - says Angel.'

Wesley looked back up again, swiftly and Spike nodded. 'Yeah, tall, dark and dreary told me he doesn't believe in the Shanshu Bugaboo - says it's a suckers game.'

'Sir!' Wesley was prevented from answering by his assistant at the computer calling him over. He got up and went to look at her screen. Spike returned to the prophecy book and ran his hand over the cover again. Over by the computer, Wesley peered at what his assistant had found. 'That's it,' he told her, 'good. Print it out.'

...

He headed into Angel's office - print out in hand - and filled his boss in on the details. It was an Aztec demon named Tezcatcatl, they didn't know a lot about it yet, their codex was missing some key pictograms, but it had been here before - exactly fifty years ago to the day.

'The day of the dead,' Angel said. Wesley nodded - though that might simply be a coincidence. They would know more once they knew why it was here in Los Angeles and what it wanted. But Wolfram and Hart did have a brief record of what had happened back in the fifties. Tezcatcatl had risen in the same place and killed over a dozen people before it was finally defeated.

'Defeated?' Angel asked.

Wesley nodded, 'yes, by five brothers. They were the champions of the time … but it came at a high price. The brothers were killed - all but one.'

'Is he still alive?'

'yes.'

'OK - I'll talk to him. I'm sure he'll wanna help. Do we have his number.'

'Yes -' Wesley told him, 'as a matter of fact we do.'

* * *

Cordelia arrived home at her apartment complex, she walked slowly down the open hallway to her door. The jasmine bushes were blooming - their fragrance perfuming the air. Admittedly, she didn't find that scent as alluring and romantic as she once had … it now came with distasteful memories and bad associations. But nevertheless she still loved this place. It was home - and it meant Dennis … and she didn't know how she was supposed to come to terms with leaving all that. She wasn't ready. This was too much.

She reached her own front door - and it swung open without her even having to touch the handle. The lights were on inside. Dennis was welcoming her home.

* * *

Angel stood outside the door to the apartment and checked the number against the address Wes had given him. The champion who defeated Tezcatcatl fifty years ago should be inside. He raised his fist and knocked. The door opened, and the mail guy - Number 5 - stared out at him.


	23. The Cautionary Tale of Numero Cinco:P2

_Part Two_

Cordelia sat down on the sofa and took off her boots. Behind her, the front door closed as if by itself - and then she heard the sound of the tea kettle heating up on the stove. She leaned back against the cushions and stared up at the ceiling, her eyes blurring with tears. A few minutes later the screech from the kettle told her the water was boiled - and then a moment later a cup came floating out. It was placed on the coffee table in front of her. She pushed herself upward. 'Thanks Dennis,' she said, her voice came out all croaky and she hastily cleared her throat, hoping the ghost wouldn't notice anything was wrong.

Her boots were moved so that they were stored neatly beneath the sofa - and her jacket and purse floated off and seemingly hung themselves on the hooks by the door. Then the television switched itself on. The channels were flicked through - all with Cordelia not raising a hand - until they reached the Discovery Channel. There was a documentary on about capuchin monkeys. Cordelia picked up her tea and took a sip - watching the activity of the funny little primates scrambling through the trees, whilst the voice over guy narrated what they were up to.

She took another sip of her tea and then sighed deeply. Then she picked up the remote and turned the television off - she found the sudden silence deafening - but she cleared her throat. 'Actually, Dennis - uh - we need to talk...'

* * *

Angel stared in surprise into the masked face of the mail guy. 'Hi,' he said. Number Five did not reply. Instead, he reached out, grabbed the vampire by the lapels and dragged him inside. Angel barely had time to mentally take note that a vampire could cross a threshold without being verbally invited, if he was forcibly yanked inside by the homeowner, before he found himself thrust up against the wall and held there by the angry mail guy. 'Stop doing that!' he complained.

'Perhaps I wasn't clear in our last conversation…' the mail guy said to him. His voice was heavily accented - Hispanic, to go with the mask … and the Day of the Dead killings. Angel shoved the man away from himself, and then pinned up against the far wall. 'What conversation? You threw me through a window.'

'I heard you talking. You were going to drag me into the quest for the Aztec demon.'

Angel looked nonplussed. 'No I wasn't,' he said, his tone one of injured surprise. 'I was gonna give you some mail.'

'Oh - sorry.'

He tightened his grip. 'Now I'm dragging you back in.' He hauled the man away from the wall and threw him across the room. Number Five stumbled and fell, and Angel watched as he struggled back to his feet. 'I need your help. You and your brothers beat this Aztec warrior thing last time around. And I need to know how.'

Number Five held his arms out wide - encompassing his small apartment, his whole life - his advanced years. 'I'm sorry. In case you haven't noticed, I'm retired from that life.'

'Wearing that mask doesn't exactly hide your past.'

The old man folded his arms across his chest. 'It reminds me that only a fool would want to be a champion.'

'Fool?' Angel asked, ignoring the hollow feeling in his chest that beat an empty agreement with the masked man. 'Is that what you think of your brothers?' he didn't even see the punch coming. As old as this guy was - as dejected, beat down and officially retired as he claimed to be - he still had the moves of a champion. He blindsided Angel and sent him staggering with the force of the blow. 'Never disrespect the memory of my brothers,' his voice was a low growl. 'They were honourable men… luchadores. Mexican wrestlers. The greatest that ever lived. Together we were known as Los Hermanos Numeros.'

'The number brothers?' Angel translated, his brow wrinkling up in disbelief. His eyes scanned the little apartment and he noticed a shrine in the corner, decorated with flowers and candles. 'Huh,' he wandered over to it to take a closer look - and picked up a black and white photograph. It showed five young men in their wrestling garb, lean and muscular and each wearing a numbered mask - just like Number Five's. 'Boy, you guys had no problem getting past the whole irony thing now, did you?'

Number Five eyed him suspiciously through his mask. 'It was a different time,' he explained, 'one which no longer exists.'

* * *

Doyle sat at his computer. The glare was giving him a headache, he'd switched the main light of the office off and so was sat in the dark - a lot like Angel back in the old days - illuminated only by the blueish glow of the screen, and the light being thrown through the windows by the street lamps outside. It made the whole place feel eerie: the deserted building, the creeping shadows, the ghostly, uneven quality of the light. He could hear the quiet, old building creaking and in the distance he could hear the steady dripping of a faucet left to run. Anybody - perhaps most people - would find the whole place unsettling, sinister even. But Doyle was not afraid of the dark or the quiet. He knew exactly what monsters went bump in the night - had accepted a long time ago that he was one of them. He had a job to do.

He scrolled through yet another page - he wasn't finding what he was looking for. There were plenty of spells, available on the net, that claimed they would work to exorcise a ghost, cleanse a spirit from a place they weren't wanted. But Doyle and Cordy were not looking to simply banish Dennis from the apartment, as they had tried to do with his mother a few years earlier. They wanted to help him cross over - move on - head into the light and find out what the heck was waiting for him on the other side. Or at least - Doyle frowned to himself - that might be what they wanted.

He was worried, he had to admit to himself. He figured - looking at all their options - that this was what was for the best, for all of them. And he figured that Cordy knew that too - but a part of him worried that she wouldn't want to accept it. Wouldn't want to seem to abandon Dennis, wouldn't want to leave her old friend. And that was completely understandable.

Cordy had such a big heart. She tried to hide it, hide how soft she really was, under her carefully crafted exterior. The quips, the quirked eyebrows, the snappy put downs - they were all just armour, protection - used so that no one would ever see quite how vulnerable she really was. So no one would ever realise how easily they could hurt her. Snarky Miss Chase might appear brittle and unflappable from the outside - the queen bee of mean - but secretly she was just as softhearted as Doyle was. Maybe even more so - she just didn't wear her heart on her sleeve the way he did. Because she was more afraid of being hurt than he was…

And now he was asking her to give up her best friend, her invisible shoulder to cry on, the one constant in her life - her rock. And, for all that Cordy tried to pretend she was forever cool and detached, giving up Dennis was going to hurt. A lot. And maybe she wouldn't be able to bring herself to do it. Or at least - she wouldn't be able to bring herself to do it right away. She would drag it out - find excuses to put it off, and leave the inevitable hanging over her like a dark cloud, making her miserable. Doyle didn't want that for her. He hated that the next step in their relationship had to come with a sacrifice for her. He wished he could take this burden from her shoulders - she had more than enough on her young shoulders at the moment, she had carried far too much of the weight of the entire team for so many years. To have this final load added to the weight she already carried wasn't fair.

But what choice did they have? Either they committed to living forever in that one apartment in this one city … or, at some point, they would have to move on. It was time to move on. And he just hoped that Cordy could accept that quickly enough that she wouldn't add to her grief by stringing it out.

If it was just a case of killing a monster, or making a tough decision to save the world, or even heading out into the unknown with no money, no plan and no backup - he wouldn't doubt for a moment that she was brave enough to do it. He'd seen her do all that. She'd left home at 18 and moved to a new city all by herself - and found a way to make it work. She'd dived headlong into a crazy, alternate demon dimension to rescue him when he got lost there - not knowing what she might find and risking her life for his. She'd accepted her destiny as the slayer with barely a quibble and taken over Angel's role of champion of Los Angeles, killing the demons and helping the hopeless. Cordy was brave - undeniably so. But giving up on a friend? That took a different kind of bravery - and Cordy had already lost so much, when the rest of their family went to Wolfram and Hart. He hoped she was brave enough for this … but he worried how much it would take from her.

But, still - if he could just find the right spell - assure her, and Dennis, that he knew what he was doing - that he could guarantee that Dennis would be OK, that he would be going to a better place - then that might make things easier for them. And he wanted to make this as easy on Cordelia as possible. But the internet was not being forthcoming.

He frowned, furrowing his brow in frustration - and decided to try a different tack. He switched off his monitor - killing the sickly, blue glare that was giving him headache anyway, and switched on the desk lamp. Then, in the light of warmer, yellow glow of the lamp - he headed for the bookshelf and perused the old, dusty books of Wesley's that they had taken with them from the Hyperion.

He wished Wes were here, right now - he'd know exactly where to look, know exactly which giant, ancient text would contain the information Doyle needed - and locate it in a couple of minutes. But Wes wasn't here - there was no point wasting time wishing for what could not be. He only had himself, in this moment, and Cordelia was counting on him to come through. Even if she didn't realise it yet. He had to find this.

He chose a book - a leather bound grimoire with a sticky, black stain on the front - and took it back to his desk. He flipped straight to the back and skimmed his finger down the index. An entry on earthbound spirits was located on page 394 - he flicked through the pages until he found the right one - and began to read.

* * *

'_Andale! Andale!' the crowd screamed and roared in appreciation, as the fight bell rang. The Number brothers had been strutting round the ring - but as the fight started four of them retreated to the side lines, leaving Number Two to face his opponent. Like all his brothers, he was shirtless - dressed only in his wrestling gear of leggings and a mask. His torso shone with sweat under the lights of the arena - making it look like his muscles were glowing. He circled the other wrestler, '_Let's dance, milkmaid,' _he taunted his opponent in Spanish. _

_The other wrestler launched at Number Two, but he easily smacked him down and held his hands up in victory. The crowd went wild - their cheers reverberating around the draughty old arena. And then he tagged in two of his brothers - and two more wrestlers from the other team joined them in the ring. They were no match for Los Hermanos Numeros. _

_The brothers moved with perfect synchronicity, throwing their opponents against the ropes - and then jumping over their heads as they rebounded. It was like a beautifully choreographed dance._

_..._

'We were great warriors in the ring,' Number Five told Angel, his voice was heavy - reminiscing about his glory days brought him no joy. 'Great heroes. Children worshipped us, women loved us, men wanted to be us.'

...

_As the wrestlers were slammed into the floor by the brothers, the crowd erupted in wild cheers once again. The children, clamouring to get near the front, watched with shining eyes - dreaming of one day being such men. Women, dressed in their prettiest dresses and their best hats, blew kisses to the men in the ring - hoping to be noticed by such impressive hombres. The men in the crowd watched half in awe, half in sullen envy - as Los Hermanos Numeros all entered the ring to celebrate yet another win. _'You ballerinas still wanna waltz?' _Number Two called to his defeated opponents, who lay flat on their backs. And then his brothers crowded round him, and he was caught up in a many armed hug - all cheering and back slapping._

_..._

'In all the years we fought, we never lost. Never quit. Never compromised. We were the best … but not all our battles were in the ring.'

...

_From deep within the cheering crowd - a man got to his feet, and cocked a shotgun. He took aim - pointing the barrel of his gun at the backs of the celebrating brothers._

_From inside the embrace of his brothers, Number Five noticed the danger. '!Hermanos!' He yelled to his brothers - pointing at the man. They sprang into action at once. Two brothers formed a step with their hands - and a third used it as a platform to spring into the air, somersaulting above the crowd…_

_..._

'You need to understand we were more than just luchadores,' Number Five explained. He was sitting down, now, in his armchair - his head bowed with the memory of the life he had lived with his beloved, fallen brothers in arms. 'No one else cared about Mexicans or Chicanos - so we protected our own. The five of us were always joined, always connected. And when necessary we came together as a fist.' He balled his own fist and smacked it into the palm of his left hand to illustrate his point. 'We fought monsters and gangsters. Vampiros,' he nodded at Angel. 'We were heroes. We protected the weak - and we helped the hopeless.'

'I know a little something about that,' Angel said to him, though his voice was uncomfortable.

'We spent every waking hour together,' Number Five told him.

...

_The brothers spent their days inside a bar - playing together, training together - always ready, always vigilant. Number Five played at cards with two of his brothers. A woman in red walked past them, she smiled and headed over to the bar. A fourth brother sat there, flirting with another woman. The woman in red took a drink and then carried it back across the bar, heading to the corner where the fifth brother was lifting weights. She kissed him on the cheek through the leather of his mask._

_..._

'We fought hard, we played hard. Brothers in the truest sense. Never jealous, never bickering those were the happiest days of my life.' Though his voice was glum, pained and regretful. Angel understood - looking back was hard. Looking back on the bad times - that hurt. But looking back on the good times - that were now lost, out of reach forever - that could feel like a great, yawning chasm in his chest.

But at the moment, there was something else bothering Angel. 'Wait a second. So you guys always wore your masks?'

'What you are failing to see, my friend,' Number Five said to him - a slight bite of irritation in his tone, 'was that we had to be ever vigilant. Ready for action at a moment's notice.'

...

_Inside the smoky bar, the pay phone on the wall began to ring. Number Five put down his hand of cards and went to pick it up. He listened to the panicked voice at the other end of the line. 'Si Si…' he nodded into the receiver and then hung it up. '!Hermanos!' he called to his brothers. _

_They all stopped what they were doing. 'The devil has built a robot!' They all got to their feet and clenched their fists, raised in the air, 'Andale!'_

_..._

'Surely you have heard of our great victory over the devil's robot?' Number Five asked. But Angel only shrugged, 'Sorry.'

Number Five shook his head and got to his feet, 'no one remembers the good stuff,' he said sadly, turning away from the vampire.

'Tell me about the Aztec warrior,' Angel said to him. Number Five stopped and closed his eyes - seeing in his mind's eye the flashing image of the wrinkled, yellow skinned creature with it's wild eyes and sharp teeth. He saw the flash of it's blade as it slashed through the air - cutting his brothers down as if they were nothing but blades of grass. 'What can I say about a demon that killed the people who mattered most to me?' he asked softly.

'You can start by saying how you killed it back.'

But Number Five only shook his head again. 'I don't know. Can't remember.'

'Can't remember or don't care?' Angel asked him sharply. Number Five turned to face him again. He peered at him through the dark eyeholes of his mask. 'Do not misunderstand me, after my brothers were killed, I tried to carry on.'

...

_Number Five sat at the table in the bar - all alone. His brothers dead and gone - just echoes and memories and mist on the wind. Haze, like the smoke that filled the room - but no more substantial than that. His heart hurt - his soul screamed inside his chest… but still he sat in that room, where he once was so happy - and waited._

_..._

'I tried to help people. But after a while, the phone stopped ringing. The people went away… until one night when a man walked in. He said his company could use a young man with my abilities.'

...

_Number Five looked up as the door opened. A dapper young man - younger even that Number Five, walked in. He carried a leather briefcase and wore a smart suit, and a genial smile on his face. He handed the luchadore his business card. It had the name of his firm emblazoned in the middle 'Wolfram and Hart - Attorneys at Law' - and in the bottom left corner, the lawyer's own name: Holland Manners._

_..._

'Wolfram and Hart,' Angel said softly. They had a way of doing that - walking in and collecting champions of light for their own side. Waiting until the chips were down, when the heroes were at the end of the rope - no place left to turn to. And then they swooped in and bought their souls. Angel was not the first champion they had taken this way … and he probably wouldn't be the last.

Despair. That was their greatest weapon. Well, Holland Manners had told him that - back when he had used the band of blacknil to go to the Home Office … only to find hell was on earth all along. When a hero lost his way, gave in to despair - that was when The Senior Partners took them for their own. It was a neat little set up: grab them whilst they were hurting - and watch them die slowly of their own remorse. A much more lasting destruction of a champion's soul than a quick and noble kill.

Number Five had turned his back on Angel again, had gone to stand in front of his shrine - looking at the photos, illuminated by the candles. 'I needed a job. They needed muscle,' he explained why he had allowed himself to sell out. 'I knew that Wolfram and Hart was everything that my brothers despised. But what did I care? Nothing mattered after I buried them behind San Gregorio. Every year on El Dia De Los Muertos, I prepare this altar for them. And every year they never come, never visit. Because I am not worthy. But it does not matter anymore.' He shook his head, again. 'Not after this year. I should have died with my brothers.'

He reached out and touched a gold medallion which lay on top of the shrine beside the photographs of his brothers, and bowed his head.

Angel sighed. 'But you didn't,' he told Number Five. 'you got stuck with the hard part, the carrying on.' He knew all too much about that. Of continuing to live when it seemed there was nothing to live for - of having to put one foot in front of the other - force himself to keep on keeping on. The weight of it all dragging him down like a stone - just listening to this guy made him want to crawl under a rock and give in. Give up. But he couldn't - he had a purpose, he might not know what that was anymore but he had to tell himself it didn't matter. What mattered was the mission. He needed to remember that - and so did Number Five. 'No wonder your brothers never come to visit,' he said to the old man. 'Listen to yourself - you've given up.' And he tried to ignore how close to giving up he was himself. 'Tell me: why did you stop caring?'

The old man only shrugged. 'It wasn't hard,' he told him, 'let me show you.'

* * *

Doyle had found the spell and scribbled the ingredients he needed down on a piece of paper. It was a good job magic shop owners in L.A tended to be shady as hell, into weird things, and kept very late hours. Despite the time of night he should still be able to find this stuff.

He took the Plymouth and cruised with the top down - the breeze blew his hair around and once again he imagined himself as Angel, driving out to solve a case - to help the hopeless. Everything had seemed so much easier when they had Angel - when the full weight of the world hadn't rested on his and Cordy's shoulders alone. It was hard being the champion - a mantle that rested heavy and fit ill. Life was much simpler when he was just the sidekick. He missed that. No wonder the big guy was always brooding. It was a lot of pressure - being the one to come up with the plan and execute the plan, work out what was needed - do the fighting and then clean up the aftermath. And Angel had done this with a whole team to back him up. Now there was just Doyle and Cordy. Tonight it was just Doyle. It was hard - but it had to be done. There was no one else … but pretending to be Angel somehow made it seem easier.

He arrived outside the magic shop and parked up. The bell above the door jangled as he opened it - and the guy behind the counter greeted him. 'Hey - back again? How did your communion with the spirit world go?'

Doyle frowned, remembering their thwarted attempt to speak with a murder victim who had already crossed over - a few weeks prior. 'We made contact,' he told the shopkeeper, 'spell worked like y' said it would … but we couldn't keep him here long enough to get anythin' useful out of him.'

'Sorry about that,' the guy shrugged, 'so what can I do you for?'

'I'm kinda lookin' for the opposite tonight, actually,' Doyle admitted. 'My girlfriend has a ghost in the apartment.'

'Exorcism, gotcha - I'll just fetch the bile...' he turned to peruse the shelves of various ooky looking fluids behind him - but Doyle stopped him. 'No, hang on - not an exorcism,' he said. 'We don't wanna banish Dennis - he's called Dennis, the ghost,' he explained, as the shopkeeper raised an eyebrow at him. 'We just wanna help him cross over - you know - to the other side? Like - an afterlife sort o' thing. I found this spell...' he reached in his pocket and pulled out the crumpled bit of paper, flattening it out on the counter. Both men pored over it.

'Yep - that should work,' the guy nodded, when he had finished reading.

Doyle cleared his throat nervously, 'and are there - uh - any side effects we might need to know about this time? There were … there were rats with the last spell. And all my mirrors cracked. And we nearly drowned. Might that happen this time?'

But the guy shook his head, 'shouldn't be a problem,' he said. 'This should be a much safer spell - see, last time you were dragging a soul back the wrong way. You were perverting the laws of nature and the whole world wanted to protest it. But this time … this is helping a departed spirit cross the divide. It's travel in the right direction - so there shouldn't be any of the same side effects.'

'Well - that's a relief,' Doyle said. 'Can you bag this stuff up for me?' he pointed to the list of ingredients. The shopkeeper nodded and started collecting together candles and sage and chicken feathers. 'You know the ritual?' he asked, as he rung up the cash register. Doyle nodded, 'I've got a spell book,' he said.

'Good - well good luck - at least today's a good day for it huh?'

Doyle paused and frowned. 'what d'ya mean?' he asked, sounding confused.

'Well - today is All Souls Day,' the guy told him. 'The feast day to commemorate the spirits of the departed. With your accent, I would have thought you'd know a thing like that. The catholic churches will be humming with special masses today. In some cultures they believe that on this day the dead can actually cross a land bridge between the worlds and visit the living. Well - if a bridge is open one way, then it's open the other way, my friend. The worlds of the living and the dead are touching today - the edges are blurring, reality is less defined. Today of all days it should be a walk in the park to get a ghostie to cross over. They're halfway there already.'

'Oh, right,' Doyle nodded, as he put his wallet away and picked up his bag of goods, 'well - thanks.' He left the shop, stashed his bag on the back seat, got back in the car and drove away.

* * *

Number Five took Angel to the old Mexican wrestling arena, it was down by the river - not far from the sixth street bridge. It hadn't changed much in over 50 years - still large and draughty, it's seats were little more than slabs of concrete rising up like the seats of an ancient amphitheatre around the wrestling ring, down in the middle. It was still crowded, filled with men, women and children, packed in tightly and cheering raucously. It was what they were watching - the spectacle they were cheering - that had changed most drastically since Los Hermanos Numeros' heyday.

'This is how my brothers are remembered,' Number Five said, nodding down towards the ring. Inside, 5 dwarves - all dressed in spandex leggings and numbered wrestling masks - were running around, being chased by a full-sized man wearing a demon mask. The crowd howled with laughter and threw popcorn at the dwarves. 'This is what their good deeds earned. They sacrificed their lives as heroes, and it is played out as a farce.'

'Maybe you expect too much from people,' Angel suggested, as he watched the 'demon' pick up one of the little brothers and flip him over his shoulder. The crowd roared in delight.

'Is it too much to expect them to remember their past?' Number Five demanded. 'To honour those that fought and died? My brothers are dead, and Tezcatcatl is back to kill again. Why did we bother? What difference did we make?'

Angel sighed. He thought of his own past - and whether or not he'd ever really made a difference - ever done any good. Certainly Lilah and The Senior Partners were going out of their way to assure him he had never done anything but waste his own time. The scales were not balanced - and all he had ever done was kid himself, as he saved one life down an alleyway and ignored the great tentacles of evil that spread everywhere around him. But then - he had surely made a difference to the lives of the people he saved? Even if it was only just in that moment. And the lives of the people who loved them. That had to mean something - no matter how outmanned and outgunned the good guys were - every life saved was a victory in itself.

He thought of Lugh - of the Tuatha Dé Danann - making his speech to his frightened warriors, turning them all into champions with his words, and defeating Balor. You could make a difference - he thought - if you just believed, if you could just reach out and touch someone, make them see - you could make all the difference to that person … and then they would do the same in turn. On and on - like ripples on a lake, champions inspiring each other.

'You made a difference in the lives you saved,' he told Number Five, though he kept his eyes fixed on the farce playing out in the ring below. 'And you did it because … it was the right thing to do. Nobody asks us to go out and fight, put our lives on the line. We do it because we can. Because we know how. We do it whether people remember us or not, in spite of the fact that there's no shiny reward at the end of the day - other than the work itself. I think some part of you still knows that - still believes in being a hero.' He turned to smile at Number Five - only to find that the elderly luchadore had vanished from his side. The smile fell from his face, 'then again, maybe not.'

* * *

He left the ring and walked through the parking lot, through groups of people holding their own little tailgate parties, and headed back out to the road. He stood on the sidewalk and sighed deeply, shaking his head in frustration. A car suddenly pulled up beside him and stopped. 'Angel, man? What are you doin' here?' Doyle asked, he was leaning over the driver's door of the Plymouth and looking surprised to see the CEO of Wolfram and Hart in such a low rent neighbourhood. Usually Angel only came round these parts, these days, if he was slumming it with Doyle and Cordy - looking for a pick me up when the grind of corporate life got too much for him.

'Oh - hey,' Angel greeted him, though he seemed distracted. '- I was ...I'm on a case. Looking for a big Aztec monster.'

'Well - that's great, good for you!' Doyle smiled.

'Why do you say that?' Angel asked him looking puzzled.

Doyle shrugged, 'well - I know how hard the Fortune 500 life's been treatin' y' - gettin y' down, like. It must feel good to be just hittin' the streets, fightin' the demons, helpin' the hopeless. Takes y' back to your roots.'

'I guess,'

It was Doyle's turn to furrow his brow. 'And yet you don't seem to be enjoyin' yourself, here, bud. What's up?'

'It's just …' he struggled to find the words, 'I guess this case is just bringing up a lot of stuff for me. Opening wounds that aren't properly healed - that I didn't even know I had.'

Doyle whistled between his teeth. 'Well - y'know - I can tell you for sure that you'll feel better once you've slayed this beastie. Nothin' cheers you up like a good old fashioned kill. It's the champion in you.'

Angel just stared at him.

* * *

Wesley and Gunn were still working, late into the night, looking through the books and the reports on the attacks - trying to find some clue which might help Angel, now they knew roughly what they were looking for.

Wesley turned the page of his text, a look of distaste on his face. 'I'd forgotten that Aztec culture was so violent,' he said.

'Yeah, 'cause our culture's so at peace,' Gunn remarked - quirking his eyebrow ironically.

'Alright - but by and large we don't _eat_ our victims.'

Silence fell between them again and there was no sound for a short while, except the rustling of pages. Eventually Gunn looked back up again, 'you got that file on the lady from the All Soul's mass?' he asked.

Wesley got to his feet and crossed to his desk to root for that particular report. 'She's the most puzzling,' he told his friend. 'The demon passed by over 20 people … so it could attack her.'

'I know - we need to find it's M.O - so Angel can guess its next move.' He took the file from Wesley and began to flick through, a frown of concentration on his face. Wesley watched him for a few moments, hesitating - and then he decided to speak up. 'Does Angel seem all right to you?' he asked.

Gunn continued to read the report, 'yeah,' he replied - not looking up, 'still adjusting to corporate life, I guess. Bit of a disconnect.'

'Disconnect?' Wesley pounced on the word.

'His word not mine,' he shrugged, 'but he's still doing his hero thing… wait a minute.' He looked up from his report now, 'didn't you say the homeless guy in the alley was a vet?'

'Yes - Gulf war.'

'And something about a bronze star…' Gunn got to his feet and started to look through all the other reports on the victims. 'Lady in the church worked with gangs, this dude - a fireman…'

'Saved his crew's life,' Wesley read. 'That's the thread? That's the M.O?'

Gunn nodded slowly. 'He's taking the hearts of heroes,' he said.

* * *

'So - what are you doing here?' Angel asked. Doyle motioned to the paper bag in the back seat. 'Had to pick up some stuff at the magic store, was just headed back to the office - but a road was closed - police tape, flashin' lights - the whole nine yards. Took a detour - saw y' standin' here - thought I'd try and turn that frown upside down.'

'There was a crime scene?' Angel asked him, 'you think someone else was killed?'

'Someone else?' Doyle looked surprised. Angel sighed. 'It's this case - big Aztec warrior, ripping out hearts. Turns out there's a guy who already defeated him once already - but he won't help. Doesn't wanna know.'

A bus drove down the road past the pair of them. Number Five was sitting in the window. Angel gestured impatiently - 'see, there he goes! So much for my stirring speech.'

'Ah - I'm sure it was a great one.'

'It was one of my best, you know?'

There was a sudden, deep growling sound from within the shadows. Both men turned to peer into the darkness - looking for the source. 'Uh - bud?...' Doyle said, nervously. But Angel only shushed him and took a step towards the sound.

The Aztec demon burst out into the pool of light cast by the streetlamp - snarling and growling. It smacked Angel a sharp backhander, sending him spinning away. It headed towards the vampire, unsheathing it's blade - and then it stopped, sniffed, and turned to look at Doyle.

The Irishman gulped.

Angel regained his feet and came back at the demon warrior, swinging, but Tezcatcatl just threw him aside again - strode towards the parked car, grabbed Doyle by the collar and lifted him out of the driver's seat, one handed. He threw the half demon down on the hood of the car - and raised his dagger high…


	24. The Cautionary Tale of Numero Cinco:P3

_Part Three_

Angel flung himself at the Aztec demon, grabbing him around the waist and rugby tackling him to the floor. They rolled over on the ground - a whirl of fists and fangs. Doyle, gasping for breath, pushed himself up off the hood of the car - he saw the fight down on the sidewalk and, taking a deep breath, morphed into his spikes and joined in the fray.

He grabbed hold of Tezcatcatl under the arms and hauled him off Angel, holding him in place whilst Angel scrambled back to his feet and began to pummel the Aztec demon. But Tezcatcatl braced itself against Doyle's grip and kicked both of its feet out, striking Angel directly in the chest and sending him flying through the air.

Doyle stumbled under the sudden weight of the demon, and the Aztec warrior took that moment to rip itself free from Doyle's hold and run off into the night. The Irishman doubled over, his hands resting on his knees, panting heavily. Now the danger was past, he allowed the spikes to melt from his face. After a moment, he stuck his hand out and helped Angel back to his feet. 'That the thing you're huntin'?' he asked, still gasping for air.

'That's him.'

'Well…' he chuckled nervously. 'I'd rather you than me, bud.'

'You OK?' Angel asked.

'Fine. You?'

'Fine.'

'Uh, bud…' he was still struggling to get his breath back, 'um … what did that thing want with _me_?'

* * *

Angel had been met at the elevator by Wesley and Gunn. They explained their discovery to him as he limped across the lobby, going slowly after his latest run in with Tezcatcatl. 'So, you think the demon is eating the hearts of heroes, huh?' he asked, after he'd listened to what they had to say. 'Well - it's an interesting theory and I can see why your research might support that, but … your theory kinda fell apart in the field.'

'Angel - I know you were taken by surprise…' Wesley started to say, but Angel interrupted him, as he limped into his office. 'The reason why I know the Aztec demon isn't eating the hearts of heroes is…' he said loudly, before shifting uncomfortably and lowering his voice, '... because he didn't take mine,' he muttered the last part. 'He flung me to one side and went straight for … Doyle. Now - are you honestly telling me that this thing tracked me from earlier, took out his sword ready to chop me in two and then thought "oh no wait - his heart's not heroic enough - I'll take his sidekick's heart instead"...' he cleared his throat. 'Former sidekick,' he corrected himself. 'I don't think so.'

Wesley and Gunn glanced at each other. 'I know you're feeling … rejected,' Wesley said to him, kindly. 'But this Aztec warrior, it wants the hearts for sustenance. It wants the meat not the metaphor.'

'What the hell does that mean?'

'It means that - as meat goes, it bypassed the dried up gnarly ass hunk of beef jerky that is your heart and went for the juicy rare prime steak that is Irish's ticker. Can you honestly say you blame him?' Gunn said.

Angel looked irritated for a moment, but then his expression fell into one of glum thoughtfulness. 'Maybe it's because Doyle is still out there - fighting the fight. And I'm in here … signing the contracts.' He sighed. 'Maybe I really am no champion anymore - like Number Five.' That reminded him of something. 'Hey, Wes? Did you know the devil built a robot?'

'_El Diablo Robotico,' _Wesley nodded. 'Why?'

'Nobody ever tells me anything.' He leaned on his desk and sighed again. Gunn glanced between his two friends - if all that was going to go on in here was a whole lot of maudlin, then he had other leads he could follow. 'I'm gonna go check with my guys in contracts,' he told them. 'If this Aztec demon got to come back after fifty years, then it might have made some kind of supernatural deal with something. And if there's a deal, might be a contract.' He headed out of the door.

Wesley turned back to Angel, who was still looking despondent - brooding, but much more so than usual. 'Angel,' he said, gently, 'what Gunn said about your heart, the dried up bit, I don't think that's the problem.'

'But you do see a problem?'

'It's the work,' Wesley nodded.

'Right,' Angel gave a sarcastic laugh. 'The eighteen hour days, the constant slaying of evil, getting my ribs bashed in by an ancient Aztec warrior…'

'I didn't say you weren't working. But it's like you just said - the way you view what we do here. Doyle and Cordelia are still out helping the hopeless - running your mission. And you … sign contracts. You're heart isn't in the work. It's lost all meaning for you.'

Angel wandered across the room and stared out of the window. 'Well - I have been feeling a bit - uh -'

'Disconnected, yes I heard. You blame your melancholy on your new position, but I don't think it's the type of work you do that's the problem.'

''OK - sure, it's not the work itself. It's why we do it - who we do it for,' Angel admitted. 'I'm here because my life belongs to The Senior Partner's now, and every step I take, every move - I have to second guess. Even if I save a life, or slay a beastie - I have to wonder - did they want me to do that? Have I just helped their great apocalyptic plan somehow? It's exhausting. And I'm trapped. There's no way out. Not until Connor …' he trailed off, not wanting to finish this sentence.

'I think things seem very bleak for you right now, your heart isn't in the game,' Wesley said. '- You've lost all hope … Spike tells me that you've stopped believing in the Shanshu prophecy.'

'Well of course I've stopped believing in it,' he scoffed, 'not only am I now fighting on the wrong side of the apocalypse…'

'The prophecy was never clear what side the vampire with a soul would fight on - it's why Wolfram and Hart wanted you in the first place.'

But Angel just waved that away, 'whatever Wolfram and Hart thinks,' he said, 'we both know - after everything that we've seen - that prophecies are nonsense. You know that, They all are.'

Wesley looked at him quizzically. Angel tutted in impatience. 'Oh come on,' he said, 'after everything last year with Doyle - being the promised one that never died, leading to Jasmine… because the prophecy around him screwed up - events changed. Or what about the one the year before that, huh? "The father will kill the son"?'

Wesley inhaled sharply. 'That prophecy was specifically altered,' he tried to stop his voice from getting heated, but he could feel the sudden warmth as blood rushed to his face. 'The underlying prophecy - that says Connor will grow to manhood and kill Sahjahn - is sound.'

'Right - the prophecy was altered. And a higher power intervened and saved Doyle's life and changed the entire course of our lives… prophecies are nonsense. Just because something is written, doesn't mean _anything_.'

'I'm sure you don't really believe that,' Wesley said.

'What does it matter what I believe?' Angel replied. 'I still go out and save the people. I do the work. As long as I keep on doing what I'm doing, what does it matter if I believe in the Shanshu or not?'

'I'm sorry, Angel, but I believe that nothing matters more,' Wesley told him - his tone was deeply serious, urgent even. 'Hope, it's the only thing that will sustain you - the only thing that will stop you ending up like Number Five.'

A silence fell between the two men - and they stared at each other, but the moment was broken by the shrill ringing of the telephone. Angel grabbed the receiver, 'yeah?' he barked down the line. He listened for a moment and then hung up. 'It's Fred,' he said, 'she's found something.'

* * *

Cordelia frowned, wrinkling her brow. It was harder than she thought - having a meaningful conversation with an invisible and silent person. She wasn't sure if Dennis was understanding, following … whether he was still even there. Usually their interactions … well to tell the truth, they tended to focus on her. She would complain, pour her heart out, sulk - whatever was on her mind - and Dennis would make her tea and pass her the tissues. He'd run her a bath and then use the loofah to scrub her back. He was there for her in a million different ways - and she was forever talking _at_ him. But talking _to_ him - this was hard.

'The thing is Dennis,' she sighed, 'I love you - you know I do. And I love living with you. You really are my best friend, you mean so much to me…' she paused, in a normal conversation the other person would say something here. But in this conversation - she had to do all the talking. 'But we have to face facts, even if we don't wanna. You're dead. And I'm not. You're trapped in this apartment, forever - and I'm ...not.' Her voice wobbled treacherously. She wasn't going to cry, she'd sworn it to herself. That wasn't fair on Dennis. She had to see this through sensibly and rationally - not make it about her.

She sighed once more, screwed up all her determination and launched in again. 'The truth is - since we lost most of the team, and it's just me and Doyle, now… we're not making that much money,' she explained. 'And Doyle's place comes with the office - we get it whether we need it or not. And you know we're getting married, right? Doyle and me? I did tell you. So it just seems - and please don't take this the wrong way. This isn't because I wanna leave or because Doyle wants to get rid of you, you know we both think of you as family … but really, me and Doyle should be living together full time now. And - it makes financial sense for us to live at his place not here.'

She stopped talking and took a deep breath - there was silence. Everything around her remained still. 'Are you still there?' she asked doubtfully. Her mug lifted itself off the coffee table - showing her that Dennis was in fact still present. 'Right,' she nodded. She tried to keep her voice bright and her words logical, but she couldn't hide the brittle quality to her tone that belied her real feelings - her real hurt. She knew that Dennis, of all people, would be able to hear it. She tried to make her voice stronger. 'OK - so … we need to think about the future. I don't suppose you can leave this place and come and live at Doyle's can you? 'Cause you know that would be my number one option…' This time she couldn't keep the hope out of her voice.

But the cup tilted back in forth in the air - like it was shaking its head.

'Right - of course you can't,' Cordy nodded, 'you haunt this place. That makes sense, I guess. So - we need to work out what happens to us now.'

* * *

The team had all gathered in the lab - Fred had her results up on the screen and had talked through them in terms the men would understand. Tezcatcatl ate the hearts of heroes and it was their blood that kept him alive, a bit like a vampire, except that it acted on the Aztec demon like a kind of supercharged rocket fuel, leaving him nigh on invulnerable.

'Oh I could kill it,' Spike announced. Everyone turned to look at him in disbelief - and he modified his statement: 'I mean, ghostliness to the contrary. Come on lads, everything's got its Achilles heel.'

'And you just happen to know this creatures Achilles heel?' Angel asked, scornfully. On top of everything else - everything he was feeling - he could really do without Blondie Bear's showboating. All mouth and no trousers - talking like a big man, safe in the knowledge that it wasn't _him_ that was going to have to go out and defeat this thing. He tutted in irritation. Spike gave him a dark look.

'Well I wager it's the heart.'

Fred looked at her screen, trying to work it out in all the lines and data markings on her graph. 'You see that in the science?'

'No love - in the poetry,' his voice was a lot softer when he spoke to Fred. 'we're dealing with a mythic creature here - a kill or be killed kind of creature. If I was trying to kill something that was trying to take my heart, I'd bloody well try and take it's heart first.'

'And you'd be doing the right thing,' Gunn announced as he walked into the lab, a file in his hands. 'That'd stop it for the time being.' But only for the time being. Tezcatcatl had arranged a get of jail free card for himself. It was all in his contract, so to speak - any kind of shady deal, hex or supernatural curse and Wolfram and Hart kept a record of it, which is what Gunn had just managed to dig up.

'Tezcatcatl was one of the Aztecs' most powerful warriors,' he told the others. 'He forged a mystical talisman that would harness the power of their sun god. Make him supernova powerful. But he got found out - and was sentenced to die on the Aztec version of the Day of the Dead.'

'So he made a mystical deal,' Wesley said slowly. Gunn nodded. 'Yeah, it was pretty clever really. He had their shaman put a curse on him to return from the dead every fifty years. Been doing it for centuries. Usually that'd be a bad thing, but in his case it brings him back so he can keep searching for the talisman.'

'Any idea what happened to the talisman?' Fred asked. But facts there were hazy - it was given to a great hero in charge of protecting it.

'Which gets passed down through the generations,' Angel realised, 'so each time that demon returns it's searching for that talisman.'

'And if it finds it, that demon becomes sungod powerful and you sods become a series of hearty snacks,' Spike punned cheerfully. The others chose to ignore him - and Wesley asked if there was a drawing of the talisman.

There wasn't, but Gunn had a basic description - it was gold, about the size of a quarter and had the sun and some other spooky mumbo-jumbo carved into it.

Angel closed his eyes and saw a flash of gold behind them - remembered the shrine at Number Five's house - and the gold medallion that had been sitting amongst the candles and the photos of his brothers. He opened his eyes and - without saying a word to anyone - ran out of the lab. The others turned to watch him go, surprised. 'Oh see,' Spike said, pointing after him, 'drama queen.'

* * *

Angel arrived at Number Five's apartment and banged on the door. There was no answer, so he broke the lock and charged inside. The place was empty - the shrine had been dismantled: the flowers, the photos, the candles - and the talisman - were all gone, along with the old luchadore himself.

Angel turned and ran back out of the apartment. He jumped into his car and switched on the engine, as he pulled out into the road, he fumbled for his cell. He pressed number one on his speed dial and listened to it ring. 'Come on come on,' he muttered impatiently.

* * *

Down in his apartment, Doyle frowned as he heard his cell start to ring. It was late for callers. He picked it up, glancing at the caller ID. 'Angel, man - what's up?' he asked, as he answered.

'I need you to look something up for me on the net,' Angel barked down the phone.

'O- kay,' Doyle headed for the stairs and went back into his office. 'What's this about?' he asked as he sat behind his desk and fired up his computer.

'I'm tracking that demon - well, the thing it's looking for. Should lead me straight to it. The guys who killed it last time…'

'Last time?' Doyle interrupted, but Angel ignored him. 'Their brother - the only survivor - said they were buried behind San Gregore. I need you to tell me where San Gregore is.'

'Sure thing man - easy,' he typed his words into the search bar. 'OK - the Saint Gregory Catholic Church is out past Korea Town - towards Central L.A. South Bronson Avenue.'

'Thanks,' Angel made to hang up.

'Hey, Angel,' Doyle caught him just before he did, 'how come you rang me - and not the guys back at Wolfram and Hart?'

'I guess - I dunno … you were always the net guy. It just seemed …' he wasn't sure what to say, he didn't have an answer. He just knew - in that moment of needing answers fast - it hadn't crossed his mind to ring anyone but Doyle. He didn't know why that was.

'OK man - good luck with that thing,' Doyle said, smiling to himself down the phone, as he realised Angel was stuck for words. 'Take care.'

'Yeah, thanks.' He hung up his cell, threw it into the passenger seat and twisted the steering wheel, screeching the car around and heading west towards central L.A.

* * *

'Doyle says - and I actually think he might be right on this but don't tell him I said that - he says you have two options,' Cordelia told Dennis. She took a deep breath. 'I mean first is kind of obvious… you just stay here. I have to go - but someone else will be along in a bit, this is a great apartment, it'll get snapped up like that,' she clicked her fingers to demonstrate how quickly her place would be taken off the market again. 'So you'll have someone else to keep you company, someone else to look after... of course there are some downsides,' she admitted. 'The next person who moves in might not - you know - know about ghosts and stuff, they might not be OK with the idea. You'd have to try and hide - try to make them aware of you in subtle ways, build up to the big reveal - and hope they don't exorcise you.'

She frowned, remembering how close she had come to exorcising Dennis the year before, when she didn't remember who he was. 'But eventually you'd build up a relationship. It wouldn't be what we have - but it could be just as good …' She frowned even deeper. 'Until they inevitably moved on and you had to start all over again. I mean that's pretty much it for choice one - stay here forever, whilst everyone living, who you care about, grows up and moves on again and again and again.'

There was a moment of quiet whilst they both considered this - or at least she assumed this was what Dennis was considering. It was not like he could tell her. 'Or then there's the other option,' she said after a while. 'Now - this one might seem a bit scary at first, but hear me out. We could - maybe - help you cross over. To the other side. Now I know that sounds hokey - don't yell - but I absolutely know for a fact that there is another side. An afterlife. My friend, Buffy, she's the mopey one with bad dress sense who accidentally turned me into a slayer, she died one time. Twice actually. But one time, she went to heaven - and she came back … so we know heaven is a place. And you could go there - and be with all the other dead people. It's a big change - but don't you think that might not be better for you - in the long run?'

* * *

Angel arrived in the cemetery behind San Gregore. Number Five was already there, he had rebuilt the shrine on top of a large flat tombstone, near the burial site of his beloved brothers. He lit the candles, performing a ritual. 'Tezcatcatl … ven. Yo te espero. Come I wait for you.'

'It won't work you know,' Angel called out to him as he approached. 'You want the Aztec warrior to come, to kill you so you can be with your brothers. But he won't.'

'He will be here,' Number Five said, calmly, 'I summoned him.'

'Maybe - but he won't kill you - or me.' He tapped his chest, 'missing the secret ingredient. Now - give me the talisman and I'll leave you to your misery.'

'I don't have it,' the old man reached for the cup from his thermos and took a sip of coffee, watching as Angel began to search through the shrine. Photos and candles fell to the floor as he hunted through them for the talisman. 'Where is it?'

'You are one strange man, Senor Angel.'

'I'm not the one in a mask standing in the middle of a cemetery in the middle of the night.'

'No - but you will be.' He raised his coffee cup in a gesture of toasting Angel. The vampire abandoned the shrine and marched over to the old man, patting him down like a security guard at the airport. But there was still no sign of it - it seemed the luchadore was not lying. 'You want this thing to punch your ticket, fine,' Angel said to him, 'but I'm not letting him get the talisman.'

'Say you stop it, then what?' Number Five asked. 'In fifty years it's back and nothing has changed.'

Angel grabbed the old man by the lapels, 'give it to me,' he demanded, bringing his face real close to the mask. But Number Five was not intimidated. And it was already too late - the demon had appeared in the graveyard, summoned by the old man's spell. It strode towards them both, unsheathing its sword.

'You were right about Tezcatcatl not wanting to kill me,' Number Five told Angel, 'that I am not a hero. So I had to find a way to fool him, to make myself worthy. I swallowed the talisman. If he wants it, he will have to cut it out of me.' He pulled himself loose from Angel's grip and threw him against a headstone, before turning away and heading towards the encroaching demon. 'You want your talisman?' he called to Tezcatcatl. '_Come and get it. It's in my belly.'_

He was face to face with the demon now - and peered through his mask into the eyes of the monster that had stolen everything from him. 'Don't you remember? I'm the hombre who destroyed you last time. Come on - it's in here,' he pointed to his belly, 'come and get it.'

The demon punched him and he fell to the ground. But he got back up again - planting his feet firmly, he spread his arms wide and yelled: 'That's it. Again!'

* * *

Cordelia swept all the magazines and coffee cups and other debris off the coffee table until the surface was clear. Then she got to her feet. 'This is your choice Dennis - completely your choice - and I wanna make sure I do the right thing by you so…' She crossed to the bookshelf and picked up a cactus, a tealight and a box of matches. 'This cactus is the housewarming present that Doyle and Angel bought for me when I first moved in here,' she told the ghost, holding it up so he could see it and then putting it on the now clear table. 'It represents this apartment - home… and this candle,' she put the tealight down next to the cactus and then laid the matches beside it. 'This represents going into the light - crossing to the other side. So - here's your choice, and I want you to think about it really carefully because I will do whatever you think is best…'

Her voice wobbled a bit, but she bit her lip and blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall. This was important and she needed to do it properly, for Dennis - she couldn't be a big, blubbery wreck - he needed to make his own decision, without feeling that she was manipulating him one way or the other. This was a choice he had to make for himself - not for her.

'If you want to stay here in the apartment, after I've moved out - and live with the next people - if you wanna stay home - then pick up the cactus and put it back on the shelf. _But_ \- if you would rather move on, take the next step in your afterlife experience - I want you to light the candle. Do you understand?'

She waited anxiously to see which Dennis would choose.

* * *

Angel got back to his feet, he ripped an iron rod from the gate of the cemetery and rushed headlong towards the demon. Tezcatcatl was gaining on Number Five, who stood his ground and refused to move. The Aztec demon pointed his sword at the old man's belly, but - before he could strike his blow, Angel was there. He knocked Number Five out of the way. 'Not gonna make this easy for you,' he yelled - then he turned to the demon and parried the sword blow with his iron bar. 'We already did this little dance remember?'

The Aztec Warrior threw him to one side, he flew through the air and landed heavily on the ground. Number Five drew a sword of his own - and lunged at the demon, engaging it in a battle that led them both away from Angel. 'If you're looking for heroes you're wasting your time,' he spat at the demon, between blows. He raised his sword to parry the next blow - but it was a feint - and Tezcatcatl got his blade through the space and plunged his sword into the old man's belly. Number Five fell to the ground, clutching his stomach.

'No!' Angel was back on his feet. He pushed the demon away from the old man and began to hit at it with his iron bar.

Number Five stumbled away, ignoring the fighting demons in the background. He found his way to his brother's grave, still clutching his stomach wound. He collapsed on the ground, under which his brothers were buried - the blood on his hand smeared down their tombstone, leaving a ruby red trail.

He was vaguely aware of Angel still fighting the demon - they seemed very far away now. He was more aware of his life's blood, flowing from his wound and into the soil - seeping into the ground.

The demon swiped another backhander at Angel - and once more he flew through the air. He landed heavily beside Number Five.

* * *

Doyle was just fixing himself a night cap when he heard his phone ring again. He picked it up - this time caller ID told him it was Cordelia calling. 'Yello? Princess?' he said into the phone, 'is everythin' alright, darlin'?'

'I need you to come over,' she said to him - her voice sounded quiet and strangely calm, like she was repressing something, refusing to feel something. 'It's time,' she told him - and then she hung up.

* * *

Angel rolled, trying to force his way back up - but, before he could, hands suddenly shot out from beneath the soil. They were either side of his head - and rising up from the grave.


	25. The Cautionary Tale of Numero Cinco:P4

_Part Four_

Angel rolled out of the way and stared - as the four brothers pulled themselves up from out of the soil and stood in front of their grave, facing down the demon. They each still wore their numbered masks - each one a different colour. The only splash of colour against the dark of their burial suits. They rolled their shoulders and cracked their necks - realigning their bodies after so many decades beneath the ground.

Number Five was staring at them too. 'Mis hermanos,' he breathed, barely daring to believe.

Across the graveyard, the demon snarled at the brothers - perhaps recognising those that had vanquished him before. They faced the demon and then all clapped their hands in unison. '!Andale!' It was as if they had never been away - never been apart. They spoke in perfect time - as they always had - and flipped and somersaulted their way over to the gate, prying off an iron bar each to use as a weapon. Death had had no impact on their power, on their skill and on their fighting ability. They were still a finely honed unit, coming together as a fist.

They each grabbed an iron rod from the gate and then ran towards the demon, their makeshift weapons raised. Angel still lay on the floor, staring at them, dazed and confused and completely disbelieving.

The brother in the red mask - Number Four - stopped, as he ran past Angel, and looked back at him. 'Amigo... Andale!' he said - his tone suggesting he was a little surprised Angel was not already up and fighting. Then he turned and ran towards Tezcatcatl and his fellow luchadores.

* * *

Doyle arrived at Cordelia's apartment, the ingredients bagged up under his arm along with the spell book, and knocked on the door. The lamp was on over the doorway, shining into the dark - and the Jasmine bushes were spreading their sweet perfume through the night air. He must have stood here a hundred times over the years. More. He remembered bringing her here that very first time - following a tip off from one of his guys - and after hours of slogging their way around disastrous apartments, each one more terrible than the last. He remembered Cordelia's joy.

'_Oh my gosh, have you ever seen anything so beautiful?'_

'_Nope - never.' _In those dark days, making her happy was one of the few things he had to make himself happy. She had been the one, shining light in the otherwise bleak landscape of Doyle city, and being able to find this apartment for her had been one wonderful moment in what was otherwise a pretty terrible week. And she had loved it so much she had hugged him. She had never hugged him before. But from then on she was grateful, saw him as more than just the badly dressed, drunk, short guy in the office who was always hitting on her. This apartment was maybe the beginning of Cordelia starting to see him differently.

And there was so much after that. He remembered that wonderful year of walking her home - before they were dating - arms linked because they couldn't hold hands yet - wanting to kiss her so badly. The lingering conversations at this very door - not wanting to say goodbye, their hearts beating fast as they found reasons to prolong their time together. And the first night she had invited him inside, after that disastrous heist at the museum, and he spent the night with her…

And there were the bad times too. The night he had come here to break up with her - because he was going to prison and he didn't want to make her wait for him. And the night she had thrown him out for kidnapping Connor, and for lying to her for months - and all the nights he had guiltily lurked in the bushes, just wanting to be close to her but knowing he was unwelcome. But - no matter what got in their way - they always found their way back to each other - and he was always welcomed back here, eventually. This place had seen the best and the worst of their relationship - and Dennis had been there through it all. And now tonight would be the last time Doyle ever came here. It didn't seem real.

...

Cordelia opened the door and he stepped inside, giving her a swift kiss as he entered. 'Are you sure about this darlin'?' he asked her. He was surprised - and impressed - that she had come up with an answer so quickly. He had been afraid she would avoid the issue, as it was so painful, and so make her pain even worse. He should have known better, he realised. Cordelia was always unfailingly brave and unfailingly honest - of course she had faced up to this right away.

She nodded her head - yes she was sure - though her eyes were red rimmed and she was clutching a screwed up tissue in her hand. 'And - uh - is Dennis sure?' he asked. She nodded again.

He wriggled out of his jacket and hung it up and then crossed to the sofa, taking the spell ingredients out of the bag and spreading them across the table. 'We gotta sprinkle the sage throughout the apartment,' he told her, 'and the chicken feathers - we have to burn one in each room. Otherwise Dennis might not leave properly - he might just get exorcised to another room - the smell of the burning feathers stops him from doing that. I think it's meant to be - uh - particularly _pungent_. Enough to force anyone to the great beyond. Then y' light the candle and say the words in the book.' He showed her the spell book. She sat down on the couch and began to read through. 'Do you wanna perform the ritual this time?' Doyle asked her, 'or do you want me to…'

Cordy shook her head. 'I'll do it,' she told him. 'It's right that I should do it. It has to be me. Would you - would you mind setting up the spell in the rest of the apartment, whilst me and Dennis say goodbye?'

Doyle nodded and picked up the sage and chicken feathers - as well as the box of matches that still lay on the coffee table from earlier. He went into the kitchen and took five saucers from the cupboard. He measured out a fifth of the sage and sprinkled it on the floor and surfaces of the kitchen, before resting one of the chicken feathers in one of the saucers. Then he struck a match and lit the feather. Leaving it to burn out in the kitchen, he headed for the dining area. He repeated the same actions - sprinkling the sage and burning the feather in the dining room, the bedroom and the bathroom - then he headed back to the living room, and Cordy.

She was still sat on the sofa, talking quietly - seemingly to herself - but Doyle knew she was speaking to Dennis. 'There's so much I need to thank you for,' he heard her say, as he set about sprinkling the sage in the final room. 'So many times you've been there for me - times you've tried to protect me. You've been my rock, Dennis - I would never have made it this far without you. And I want you to know…' her lip was beginning to tremble, 'that'll I'll always love you, and I'll always remember you - and I hope you'll always remember me too. But I guess,' she sniffed, 'I guess it's time for us both to move on.' Her eyes welled up - and a tissue rose from its box and floated across to her, 'thanks,' she sniffed again, taking it and dabbing at her eyes. 'I'm gonna miss this so much.'

Doyle held the final chicken feather against the match, watched it catch light and then dropped it into its saucer. Then he cleared his throat, 'um - it's time, Cordy. If you're ready. It's time to light the candle…' he glanced around the room. 'Are y' sure about this Dennis?' he asked, 'it's not too late to change y' mind.'

But the candle and the box of matches picked themselves up off the table and floated into Cordy's hand. Dennis was sure - and he was ready. He was telling them to get started.

Her hands trembling as much as her lip was, Cordy struck the match and held the flame against the wick of the candle. Once it was alight, Doyle switched the lights off and Cordy held the candle steady and began to chant.

* * *

Angel picked up his own iron bar, from the ground, and struggled back to his feet - following the brothers towards the battle. Los Numeros Hermanos fought as one, circling the demon - weaving around him and striking out with their makeshift weapons. There was not much room for Angel - as the luchadores trod what looked like a well rehearsed dance around Tezcatcatl - not much space for him to slide in and take a shot. But he managed to get in a few punches - a few swings of his iron bar. He wasn't getting near the heart though.

As he swung his bar, and the demon staggered backward, creating space, the brothers suddenly converged; forming together to create a step with their hands. Number One stood on the step and his brothers launched him into the air - an old move from their days in the ring, their days as champions. Number One landed on the shoulders of the demon - who roared out. 'We're trying to kill it - not pin it,' Angel yelled at them.

But Number One leaned away from Tezcatcatl, dragging the demon downwards. His hands hit the floor - as the demon bent under his force - and he pushed down - backflipping so forcefully that he was able to pull Tezcatcatl up into the air, following the path of his own backflip, and then slam it face down on the floor.

The other three brothers were on top of the demon at once. They flipped it back round, so it was lying on his back and then pinned a limb each - staring up expectantly at the watching vampire. 'OK - so pinning it works,' Angel shrugged - and then ran forward, holding his iron bar - and driving it deep into Tezcatcatl's heart.

Pinned beneath the grip of the luchadores, Tezcatcatl's body shook as the blow struck right where he was vulnerable. The iron bar was forced through his chest, through his heart and then hit the ground beneath. It roared out in pain, feeling its strength, its power, its very life flow from its body - and then turned to dust, crumbling away into nothing - like a common vampire. Tezcatcatl was dead - for this half century. The danger was passed.

...

Over by the grave, Number Five let out a moan. Angel heard and turned away from the fight, immediately - and headed back to the dying old man's side.

* * *

The flame flickered in the darkness. Cordelia's voice was wavering - but she struggled to make it sound as forceful and determined as possible. She did not want this to go wrong - not for Dennis. 'Anubis, Hermes, Hecate and Vanth,' she called out, 'guides to the souls of the departed - take the spirit of Dennis Pearson and lead him safely to the lands beyond the veil, help him find his way to what comes next. Let him find peace, let him find rest, let him cross through the gateway and find his home in the world yet to come.'

* * *

'Hey,' Angel knelt down beside the old man. Number Five was holding his belly - as if trying to stop his insides from falling out. His breathing was heavy and laboured - and Angel knew there was nothing he could do for him.

'Mis hermanos, they came back,' he gasped.

And Angel realised he could do this one thing for the old luchadore, this one final act of mercy - he could help him die happy, die at peace with the world and with himself. He nodded his head, 'because you're worthy,' he told him, 'you proved it.'

'Maybe. But still the demon did not want my heart.'

'He didn't want mine either,' Angel admitted. Number Five chuckled - which immediately became a cough. 'Of course not, Amigo. Who'd want that dried up walnut of a dead thing?' He coughed again, 'coffee,' he spluttered.

Angel furrowed his brow, ' Coffee? You want coffee?' Number Five was dying - his stomach was opened up - a warm beverage seemed a strange last request. And a painful one, given his injuries.

'!Estupido! The talisman, it's in …' he gestured with his left arm and then fell back groaning. Angel scrambled to his feet, grabbed the fallen thermos and emptied it out onto the grass. Sure enough, the golden talisman of Tezcatcatl fell to the ground, shining in the moonlight. He picked it up and returned to Number Five's side. 'I may be no hero,' the old man told him, 'but I am no fool.' He groaned, one last time, his eyes closed and he slumped back against the headstone.

Angel looked at him, sadly. Death was always sad - even when it was welcomed, even when it came to one who had lived without hope or love. It was the finality - the loss of everything that was and might have been. Whatever came next, it was different to what came before - and all change meant loss, one way or another. Number Five might have been old, he might have been bitter and lived without hope, he might have lost everything he valued - everything Angel thought was important in himself - but his passing was still so final, still so sad. It closed a door that could now never be opened. He would never put right his wrongs - never forgive his own mistakes. He would never die a champion.

Angel sensed something standing over them and looked up. The other four brothers had appeared before him, their opponent vanquished and their final brother dead, their time on this earth was passed. There was just one final thing before they could return to the land of the dead. They stared down at the two men, silently.

* * *

The flame of the candle flickered, as Cordelia finished speaking, and then died out - leaving the pair of them in complete darkness. 'Is that it?' Doyle asked quietly, 'is he gone?' But, before Cordy could answer, a light began to glow in the centre of the room. It was dim at first - but it gradually and steadily grew brighter and brighter until it was a dazzling, blinding white that reached every corner of the apartment. 'I think this it,' Cordy murmured, reaching out and clutching hold of Doyle's hand. 'I think that's the light for him to go into… Dennis…'

She choked on his name and then inhaled sharply, as she felt something brush past her cheek - just for a moment - the ghostly whisper of a farewell kiss.

* * *

The brothers reached down and picked up the body of Number Five. They carried him aloft on their shoulders, like pallbearers, and walked silently over to the site of their own grave. They stood there for a moment, still in utter silence - the four young men in their funeral suits and masks, carrying the still and aged body of their youngest brother. Angel stared at them. Watching them as quietly as they watched him. And then they faded away, melting from existence - stepping back through the gateway to the world of the dead. The ground was undisturbed where they were buried. It was as if they had never been there - never come back. Except that the body of Number Five had vanished also, they had taken their fallen brother back through the gateway with them. Los Numeros Hermanos were complete once more.

* * *

Doyle had had to close his eyes, screw them up tightly against the brightness of the brilliant white light - though it was still so dazzling that he could still feel it just beyond his eyelids. He could feel Cordelia's hand still gripping his own - he could feel it shaking. Her gave her hand a squeeze, hoping to bring her some comfort - and wondered if she had closed her eyes - or if she had forced herself to keep watching.

After a minute or so, he realised that the light behind his eyes was fading; growing dimmer. Cautiously, he pried open one eyelid - and saw that, indeed, the white was becoming more yellow - a warmer and dimmer glow - and it was receding; shrinking back from every corner of the apartment and coalescing in that one spot in the middle of the room. It seemed to him like the gateway had been opened - he and Cordy had peered right through to the other side - but now Dennis had stepped across the threshold and that gateway was closing behind him. It had been easy. The day of the dead - the gateway had been half opened anyway.

The light continued to grow smaller and dimmer. Dennis was travelling further and further away, beyond their reach. Doyle suddenly wondered if Dennis were scared. 'Bye Dennis,' he called into the dwindling light, hoping to make the ghost less afraid, if he was, 'see you on the other side, bud.'

And then the light died away completely, the gateway closed and the apartment was left in darkness. He felt Cordy rest her head against his shoulder, in the dark, and he wrapped his arm around her and held her tightly, as she cried against his chest.

* * *

Angel arrived back at Wolfram and Hart. The team - and Spike - were waiting for him in his office. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the talisman, handing it to Wesley. 'See if you can put this someplace safe?' he said.

Wesley took it from him, nodding. 'Are you alright?' he asked, sounding anxious. 'I know you've been feeling…'

But Angel cut him off. 'I'm fine,' he said. 'Got the job done - that's what's important. It's been a long day, see you guys in the morning.' He turned away from them and headed for his private elevator.

But Fred was not ready to let him go. She slid off the desk, where she had been perching. 'So Number Five, he jumped in and helped in the end?' she asked, anxiously.

Angel came to a stop but he didn't turn around to look at them. He had come to realise that - for humans at least, if not for him - stories were important. They needed to believe in the champions, the heroes. Needed to believe in redemption and valour and bravery. They needed to believe it in others so they could believe it in themselves. It gave them comfort. And they needed that. 'He died a hero,' Angel lied - and then left them alone.

* * *

Cordelia was sat on the couch at Doyle's apartment. Her apartment now. He had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and she was holding a cup of herbal tea, though she wasn't remembering to drink it. The tears were still rolling silently down her cheeks.

Doyle had wanted to get her out of that apartment as quickly as possible, didn't want her staying there alone whilst she was grieving, didn't want her missing Dennis' familiar presence in the place he had always been. He thought she would miss him less at his place - where she wouldn't expect Dennis to be there, wouldn't forget - and then have to remember and grieve all over again.

Tomorrow he would have to return and hoover up all the sage he had scattered. He'd have to pack up all of Cordy's things and bring them over to his place, clean her apartment thoroughly and then contact the realtors to find out about dropping off the keys. He wanted to do as much of the admin and busy work of moving for her as he possibly could. Moving house was bad enough at the best of times, so much to sort out, so much to remember … he'd have to get meter readings for the gas and electricity as well - ring up the companies and cancel her accounts … he didn't want her to have to think about all that stuff whilst she was grieving. Though he knew she might want to visit the place one last time - to say goodbye - before he handed the keys in. So he wouldn't have to rush - would have to give her time to adjust and move on, give her space to decide if she wanted to see the old place one last time - or if she was done with it. She'd lost so much in the last six months - her whole family, their old office - and now her home and her ghost. He wanted to make everything as easy for her as possible. Wished there was some way he could take away her pain, feel it for her. Instead - all he could do was be there for her, hold her hand and dry her tears, and help her out with the practicalities.

He sat down beside her, and she rested her head against his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her and stroked her hair - not knowing what to say.

'I miss him,' she said quietly.

'I know. I'm sorry.'

'Do you think he's OK?'

He turned his head and planted a soft kiss into her hair, 'I'm sure he is,' he promised. 'And I'm sure he's lookin' down on y' right now - and he wouldn't want y' to be sad. And I'm sure he'll be waitin' for y' - for a long, long time, but he'll be waiting for y' - ready to welcome you home when it's your time to go to him.'

'Do you really think it was the right thing to do?'

'I really do,' he assured her, 'and so did Dennis. He isn't gone, Cordy - he's just someplace else. He's where he's supposed to be. He should have gone there a long time ago, before you were born even - and now he's there, right where he belongs. And you got him there, 'cause that's what friends are for.'

She sniffed and raised her head from his shoulder, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. She finally took a sip of her tea. 'I miss him,' she said, again.

'I know.'

* * *

It was very late at night now - the whole building was deserted and in darkness. Spike must be somewhere but - wherever he was - he was mercifully nowhere to be seen. And security were being unobtrusive.

Angel made his way down from his penthouse apartment, and walked through the lobby to Wesley's office. Once inside, he made his way to the watcher's desk and ran his hands over the various book templates that were kept there. He selected the one on ancient prophecies and carried it back upstairs to his home.

He crept into Connor's room and sat down by the bed. His son was sleeping, of course, this late at night. His skin was flushed, and his chest was rising and falling with his deep, heavy breathing. Angel watched him. Maybe hope was important to him as well, he thought. Maybe he had to believe in champions and heroes, too - perhaps that was the only way he could continue to be one, even trapped here - in this den of evil. He had seen, tonight, where a lack of hope - a lack of belief got you. Seeing the bitter truth, realising you served no higher purpose, did not make you happy - did not set you free. Instead it trapped you in a web of your own remorse and resentment.

Angel had to believe there was more to life than that. More to the universe and his place in it. Because even if that was a lie - believing the lie was better than drowning in the truth. He had to hope. He had to believe in heroes. In champions. He had to believe he was one - and that there was light at the end of the tunnel. He wanted it to be true - that had to count for something. Wanting was so very close to hoping. And if he didn't have hope - then he didn't have anything.

He picked up the template and whispered into the spine. 'Shanshu Prophecy. English translation.' Then he opened the book and watched the words spread across the page. And, as Connor slept beside him, Angel read the words of the prophecy; of his shining, golden reward; the promised light at the end of this dark and weary tunnel - and he dared to hope: _The vampire with a soul shall have his past washed clean and live again in mortal form._

* * *

**A/N Next episode is Lineage**


	26. Lineage: Part One

**Lineage**

_Part One_

Lilah entered the coffee shop and scoured her surroundings - she'd been summoned to a private meeting and she didn't know who by. She did not appreciate being yanked around like this, but on the other hand she was a woman who enjoyed an intrigue. If someone was plotting - then she wanted to know who and what; whether she wished to join in the scheme or not, she still wanted to know the score. Gather all the information. Hold all the cards.

As her eyes passed over the crowd she spotted her mark - and let out a sardonic bark of laughter. She crossed the room and sat down at the table, crossing her long legs and letting her purse slide to the floor. 'This had better be good,' she said.

* * *

The meeting was being held in a warehouse, dark and deserted - on the wrong side of the tracks. Emil had brought his muscle with him - and was now laying down the way things worked. 'It comes down to trust,' he said. He was sitting on a chair backwards, straddling it, his arms folded across the back. He looked relaxed, whilst his flunkies glowered behind him. 'There's no Better Business Bureau for what we do. Customer complaints are dealt with through … killing, torture, beating … sometimes fire.' He glanced back at his muscle and then smiled at the man opposite him, sitting stiffly in his own chair. 'We call it word of mouth advertising.'

'If I'd known this was going to be a seminar, I'd have worn my name tag,' Wesley said - sounding distinctly unimpressed, for all Emil's threats. But that only made Emil laugh. 'I just want to make sure we both know where we stand,' he told the watcher.

'Right now you're standing on the brink of my patience,' Wesley said, coldly. 'I agreed to meet with your distributor, Emil, not your … muscle,' he raked a glance over the two flunkies, curling his lip to indicate his disdain. 'This is a waste of time,' he said, getting to his feet.

But Emil gestured to him to sit back down - to take a moment to reconsider. His distributor was merely cautious, he explained, he wanted the merchandise verified before they moved ahead with the deal.

There was the sound of high heels tapping against the hard concrete of the floor, and Emil raised an eyebrow and smiled, 'now who is this?' he asked - as Fred placed a silver briefcase on the table and opened it. Wesley glanced over at her and then looked back at Emil - dead in the eyes, 'my muscle,' he said.

Fred started to take parts out of the briefcase and put them together, assembling a massive gun silently and efficiently. 'What we've got here is a modification of the TS-113 sniper rifle,' she explained once it was fully assembled and held in her hands. 'We've altered its targeting and firing mechanisms to fit the parameters you gave us. Scope works along amplified thermal wavelengths. We replaced the delivery system with a bylantine energy charge, eliminating the need for conventional ammunition.'

'Wolfram and Hart has 200 units ready now,' Wesley told Emil, 'we'll begin making more once we receive payment.'

'And your boss doesn't mind selling this exciting weaponry to someone like me?'

Wesley only shrugged. 'As long as they don't show up in L.A. We choose our battles, Emil, and you sidestepped the issue of payment.'

Emil laughed again. 'You'll get your money.'

Wesley nodded and got to his feet. He took the gun away from Fred and began to disassemble it, placing the component parts back in the briefcase. 'You'll get nothing until I've met with your distributor,' he said, 'I'm not going through a middle man.'

Emil slammed his hand down on the back of his chair. 'Did you just refer to _me_ as a middle man? You're lucky Wolfram and Hart have such good word of mouth advertising.' He reached into his inside coat pocket and took out a pen and a scrap of paper and began scribbling something down. 'There - call this number, he'll arrange everything.' He handed the paper to Wesley and then shook his head in disbelief, glancing at Fred. 'Can you believe I used to sell this guy collapsible swords? Almost makes me...'

He was cut off as one of his guards suddenly grunted and was then dragged backwards through the air by a hook skewered through his throat. Everyone looked around in alarm and Wesley hastily pushed Fred behind a tower of packing crates - out of sight.

Emil had jumped to his feet in anger. 'No one double crosses me,' he yelled.

Hidden behind the crates, Fred and Wesley held a whispered and hurried conversation. 'What hit that guy?' she asked.

'Not sure.'

Emil and his guard now had their guns pulled out and were on the defensive, backing up and looking around for whatever had killed the other flunkey. Wesley took two pistols out of his own jacket pocket and held one in each hand. He leaned round the side of the crates to take a look and then dove across the warehouse, shooting from both guns.

Left alone in their hiding place, crouched down and completely unprotected, Fred looked irritated. 'Yes, thank you, Wesley. I'd love a gun!'

Wesley shot the remaining guard, who fell to the floor. Across the warehouse, a black-clad figure dropped down from the ceiling and landed in front of Emil. Emil began to back away from him, 'I don't want any...' but the dark figure wasn't listening. It whipped a chain out and threw it like a lasso, wrapping it around Emil's neck. Then the figure yanked the chain - and Emil's neck broke. The arms dealer fell to the ground.

Watching from a distance, Wesley pulled his guns - making ready. But, before he could shoot, the mysterious black-clad figure had disappeared - as silently as it had arrived. The watcher crept through the warehouse, his guns pointed and ready, alert for any noise. But he was blindsided by another dark figure - who grabbed him.

There was a crash as the window to the warehouse was kicked in - the shards of glass scattered, to fall in broken fragments - and Angel tumbled through the space. He landed on the concrete, rolled and jumped to his feet; grabbing the man who was attacking Wesley. He grabbed hold of the chain the black figure was using as a weapon and wrapped it around his opponents neck. Then - just as had been done to Emil - Angel yanked the chain and broke the fighter's neck. The black clad figure slumped to the floor - but bolts of electricity crackled around the break.

Angel and Wesley glanced at each other, bemused, and cautiously made their way to the fallen man's side. Crouching down, Angel pulled the man's hood from his face - only to reveal that he didn't have one. Instead there was a face plate made of silver chrome. More electricity crackled from the broken cyborg - and the two men exchanged another mystified glance.

Then they heard a soft and pained moan coming from behind the packing crates. 'Fred!' Wesley realised and ran back to where he had left her. Angel got to his feet, looking confused, 'Fred?' he asked. He followed Wesley - and found him standing above her. looking horrified. Fred was barely conscious - and there was a large, ugly wound in her shoulder - she was bleeding heavily. Wesley pulled out his handkerchief and knelt by her side, pressing the cloth against her wound, trying to stem the flow of her blood. He gazed off into space as he worked - his expression one of terror.

Above him - Angel was looking more angry than worried.

* * *

Breakfast plates and bowls, and mugs of coffee lay strewn across the dining room table. Doyle sat in his chair, in his dressing gown, and finished off a last bit of toast. Across the apartment, Cordelia was running round like a mad thing - throwing things into her bag, brushing her hair and yelling questions and instructions through to her boyfriend. Doyle just stayed quiet and let her get on with it.

'Are you sure you'll be OK?' she shouted to him, now with her head buried under the bed, rooting out a missing shoe. 'We could ring them and rearrange…'

'I'll be fine, Cordy, I got all the stuff I need.'

'You got your social security number?'

He nodded his head - and then remembered she couldn't see him, from her vantage point underneath the bed, and shouted back a 'yes'. 'I got proof of I.D, proof of _your_ I.D, birth certificates and social security numbers. Plus proof o' my divorce from Harri - just in case they wanna see it again. They'll hand it over darlin' - no worries.'

Cordelia had emerged from the bed and wrestled her now found shoe onto her foot. Then she looked in the mirror and cried out in alarm, seeing the state her hair was now in after her sojourn under the bed. She grabbed the hairbrush and began to comb it out again. 'What if there's a problem?' she called across to him.

He finished chewing his bit of toast and swallowed, before he answered. 'There won't be a problem.' He picked up his coffee mug and took a thoughtful sip. 'And if there is - they'll tell me what it is and I'll sort it. Or we'll sort it later. It's just paperwork, Cordy - no need to freak out.'

'No need to freak out?' she repeated, disbelievingly, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation. 'This is only our marriage license! If they don't let us have one, then we can't get married. Full stop. End of. No green card. Back to merrie olde England for you.' She left the bedroom and walked out into the living area - scowling at her boyfriend who was sitting there so calmly, drinking his coffee.

'England and Ireland aren't even on the same land mass, Cordy,' Doyle rolled his eyes, 'we've only been goin' out for four years and you don't even know which country I'm from … hey - maybe they won't give us a marriage license, that is pretty terrible!'

She threw a cushion at him.

'Ow! You know you can throw pretty hard these days. I'm gonna have a bruise.'

She ignored him and wriggled into her jacket. 'Are you sure you'll be OK?' she asked again.

He nodded, 'I don't know why you're freakin' out so much, I'm just pickin' the damn thing up - we already did the hard part.'

'I just figured we'd be going to get it together you know - so I'd be there, to make sure nothing went wrong.'

'You have dangerous, control freak tendencies, Cordelia, anyone ever tell y' that?'

She gave him a dark look. 'I just thought - you know, our marriage license! We should both be there, but now…'

Doyle got out of his chair and walked over to her, wrapping his arms around and giving her a kiss. 'But now you've got a modellin' gig booked for the same day we're meant to pick it up and you're freaking.'

'It's not even much of a job - just modelling knitwear for knitting patterns, hardly Claudia Schiffer.'

'But it pays better than the nothin' we usually earn - and it probably isn't evil - so you have to take it. You'll have a nice day modelling sweaters, pick up a paycheck and by the time you get home, I'll have the license and we can start planning the wedding in earnest.' He kissed her again. 'All in all, things will be pretty sweet.'

'I guess.' She kissed him this time. 'You've got your social security number?' she asked one more time. He just laughed. 'Go,' he said to her, 'knock 'em dead - not literally. Have a nice day and don't worry about nothin'. I'll take care o' all the paperwork.'

'OK - I guess I'll see you this evening. If you're sure - we could reschedule.'

'Go,' he said, firmly, giving her a final kiss and pushing her towards the stairs. She laughed, this time. 'OK - bye then. I love you.'

'Love you too, princess.' He watched her leave - still smiling - and once the sound of her leaving the office had died away, he turned back to the breakfast table, gathered up all the crockery and did the washing up.

* * *

'She could have been killed!' Angel said, his voice was angry. Wesley was in his office, standing in front of him - and Angel was demanding answers. Lilah was there too - and she seemed to be enjoying herself rather a lot. And that only made the vampire angrier. Fred had no reason to be at that meeting last night. Those people were too dangerous - and look what had happened to her.

'Medical are optimistic,' Lilah said, she was working hard to cover up the shadow of her shark's smile - neither men were in the smiling mood. 'It looked worse than it was. Gidget's a bleeder … but she should make a full recovery.' There was a slight edge to her tone that suggested she was a little disappointed with that news.

'That's not the point,' he leaned on the bag of his chair and glowered across at Wesley, 'what the hell was she doing there in the first place?'

'I needed someone who could explain the weapon convincingly,' Wesley explained. His voice was calm - but his expression was haunted, the thousand yard stare was back.

'Nobody else knows how to explain a gun?'

'I needed someone who wouldn't arouse Emil's suspicions.'

'And so conveniently the only person who could go with you was Fred?'

'That is pretty convenient, lover,' Lilah chimed in, biting her lip to hide her smile. 'Some people - not me - but_ some_ people might think you were looking for an opportunity to spend more time with the doe eyed Miss. Burkle. And get her out of the way of Mr. Knox. Fraternising not working… The Senior Partners would not approve.'

Wesley made an impatient sound at the back of his throat. 'Don't be ridiculous. I needed someone I trust. Someone who knew the weapon - that narrowed my options down to one. Fred has more than proved herself in the field there was no reason to think…'

'We found her bleeding to death on the ground,' Angel interrupted him. His voice was quiet but it trembled with suppressed fury. He glared at the watcher. 'From now on you clear it with me before using any of my people.'

'Your people?' Wesley sounded surprised by the turn of phrase.

'Got it?'

Wesley nodded and turned on his heel - leaving the office. Angel slumped down into his chair. 'What was all that about?' Lilah asked him - she perched on the edge of his desk, crossed her long legs and raised a sardonic eyebrow. 'You went kind of hard on him.'

'She could have been…'

'Killed - yeah - I got the memo. But he's right. Fred's been on the team for over two years now. Last night was not the first time she was in danger - not the first field mission she's ever been sent on. It's not even the first time she's been hurt.'

'You weren't there. You didn't see her.'

But she only laughed - a throaty chuckle. He glanced up at her annoyed. 'Angel - wonderbread - I get that you like to think of yourself as the shining white knight, protector of the damsels. But you're also the man who cut off my hand. You're not squeamish and you're pretty equal opportunities when it comes to inflicting damage. So what's with this sudden need to protect little Fred? Because she's a girl? Or would you be getting this het up if it was Gunn that got hurt in the line of duty? In fact - correct me if I'm wrong … but didn't Wesley himself once sustain a serious gunshot injury out on the job? He really did nearly die. Yet you're still happy to send him out - and beat him up over Fred getting injured. What gives?'

Angel grit his teeth, his fingers were interlocked, elbows resting on the desk, and he was squeezing so hard his knuckles were turning white. 'It was a reckless decision.'

'Was it?' She slid off the desk and headed towards the door. 'Or was it Wesley looking at the big picture? Risking anything - or anyone - for the greater good. He's right you know - he needed someone he trusted, and someone who could explain the gun. He doesn't know the rest of the science team - know if they're loyal. Fred was the only one who fit the spec. So he took her. Risking Fred's safety to bring down an arms dealer ring. That's big picture, shades of grey stuff - right there. All the things you hate about working at Wolfram and Hart. All the things Wes is so effortlessly good at.' She reached the doorway and leaned on the frame, her arms folded. 'Isn't that why you're mad at him? Because he's so good at the hard decisions. There's nothing he won't sacrifice. Makes you worry if you can really trust him. Because rest assured, if the day ever came, my Wesley would sacrifice you.'

She smiled one last time, nodded her head at the stewing vampire and walked out of the office. Angel stayed behind his desk, hands still clasped, and settled down to brood.

* * *

Wesley was back in his office, he was staring out of the window - though not taking in anything of the view. The old thousand yard stare was still on his face and he was cursing himself in his head. So stupid. So reckless. To put her in that level of danger and then fail to protect her … He turned, when he heard her voice.

'They gave me the all clear,' Fred came through the door, her arm in a sling, smiling and chipper. He took a step towards her. 'I was just coming down to find you.' He couldn't match her smile - the guilt was too much.

'Though I do have to take a boatload of antibiotics,' she told him, 'apparently there are some concerns about where that grappling hook's been.' She giggled. 'Oh, we're taking that cyborg apart in the lab right now. You should see how intricate that thing is - like an M.C Escher, but with wires and flesh instead of geese.'

He stared at her blankly, barely comprehending her merry chatter - being eaten away with the guilt of what he had done, and the relief that she was all right, despite his stupidity. 'I'm sorry about what happened, Fred.'

She looked surprised. 'Are you kidding me? All I had to do was hide and I couldn't even do that right.'

'I should have done a better job protecting you.'

The surprised smile slid off her face. She looked more stunned, now - and annoyed to boot. 'What?' her voice had a hard edge to it. He sighed. 'That didn't come out right,' he tried to tell her.

'Do you realise how patronising that sounds?' she demanded, '_protecting_ me?'

'You shouldn't have been there in the first place,' he replied, remembering Angel's words. And Angel was right - of course he was. Wesley had no business putting Fred in danger.

'That's not for you to decide!' she told him.

'Yes it is, actually. I made the call. I screwed up.'

'Listen to you!' she was almost shouting - and there was no trace of a smile left on her face now. 'You're blaming yourself because poor Fred got hurt. Stop trying to be all valiant. You're coming off like a self pitying child.'

But Wesley wasn't even listening to her anymore. He was staring past her, over her shoulder, at the man who had just walked through the office door. 'Hello father,' he said.

Fred, with her back still to the door, hadn't seen the newcomer - and didn't understand. 'Oh well that's mature,' she said. 'Well I wish I was your father. I'd tell you to grow up.'

'It doesn't work - I've tried,' A deep, stiff upper lip voice said from behind her. She whirled around and saw the old man standing in the doorway. She glanced between the two men - speechless.

'Why are you here?' Wesley asked the older man.

Fred was still glancing between the two of them. 'You're Wesley's…'

'I see manners are still not my son's strong point.' The old man extended his hand to Fred, 'I'm Roger Wyndam Pryce.'

Clumsily, Fred gripped the proffered hand with her own uninjured one and shook it. She was blushing and stuttering. 'Winifred Burkle, how do you do?' she glanced back at Wesley, 'I didn't know you were… we were just … I, um, have an employee I need to belittle and show him who's in charge. I should let you two catch up. It was really nice to meet you. I'm sure I'll see you again.' She took her hand back and scuttled towards the door. 'The pleasure was all mine,' Mr. Wyndam Pryce smiled graciously.

The door shut behind her and he turned back to his son. 'A self pitying child - imagine how humiliating that will be for her employee.'

Wesley was still just staring at his father. 'Why are you…' a sudden thought hit him. 'Is mum OK?'

'She's fine. Sturdy as ever. No, you and I have business to discuss.'

Business - of course. Of course this wasn't a social visit. Of course his father had not taken the trouble to come and see him for the pleasure of coming to see him. There was something Wyndam Pryce senior wanted from his son - the only reason he would ever come and visit him. He ushered his father over to the couch and cleared the books from it, making space for them to sit down.

'As you may well know, the watcher's council was destroyed last year,' Roger told him. He nodded - of course he had heard that. Even as he had been dealing with an apocalypse of his very own, he had heard about the fate of the council. They had been destroyed in the same war that had left Spike less than a ghost and doomed to haunt Wolfram and Hart for all eternity.

'The remaining former watchers, myself included, have decided to reform the council. And I have been sent to contact you.'

Wesley inhaled sharply. He bit his tongue to stop himself from pointing out that the council was defunct anyway - neither Buffy nor Faith had any need for a watcher, beyond what guidance Giles - or perhaps himself - could give them. If the retired watchers were reforming then they would be nothing more than a back slapping, brandy sipping, cigar smoking, gentleman's club. Instead, he concentrated on the role that seemed to be expected of him. 'Are you saying the council wants me to come back?' That came as something as a surprise - when they had fired him they had refused to even pay for his airfare home. It was how he came to work at Angel Investigations in the first place. And he had only since heard from the council when they wanted something from him - last time when they wanted his access to Angel to help them bring in Faith. He shouldn't take this offer at face value. One should never take any offer from the council at face value - they always worked primarily for their own interests.

But Roger shook his head. 'Not necessarily. Your name's been proven to be a point of contention. There are some who believe that your tenure as watcher ranks as our most embarrassing failure.'

That stung. 'Really?' he replied, acidly, 'I beat out everybody dying in an explosion as most embarrassing failure.'

'Friends and colleagues lost their lives in that event,' his father said sternly, 'a little respect.'

'Sorry.'

'The council have agreed to take you back - pending my assessment,' Roger told him.

'I see.' Wesley got to his feet. 'Well I'll save you the trouble. I'm not interested.'

* * *

Doyle arrived at city hall, double checked he had all the documents he needed - Cordy would kill him if he'd left something behind - and then went inside. He spoke to someone on the front desk, explaining why he was there, they gave him directions and he headed for the elevators, taking one up to the floor where the registrars worked.

There was another front desk on that landing - and he spoke once more to the person there. They told him to take a seat and directed him to the row of chairs lining the corridor. There was a coffee machine, down the hallway, and Doyle got himself a cup of coffee and then took it to the seating area, waiting his turn. There were a few other people there waiting - couples mostly - and a young family with a baby, presumably there for a birth certificate. He nodded at them all affably and sat down.

One by one - the groups of people got called into the registrar's office. The line dwindled. More people showed up and took a seat. Doyle waited patiently, sipping his coffee. The young family went into the office - and came back out a few minutes later, clutching a certificate - along with their new baby - they thanked the woman on the front desk, and then left. Then the next person was called into the office. Doyle frowned and checked his watch - this was someone who had turned up after him. But he just shook his head and continued to wait - he'd been a few minutes early. Maybe they had had an earlier appointment and had just cut it more fine with the timing. After all - city hall was close to the office, he'd been able to walk there. If they still lived at the hotel, if he'd had to cross town - and get stuck in traffic - he might have been a bit tardy as well.

But the hands on the clock kept on ticking away - travelling further and further past the time for his appointment, and people who had turned up after he was already supposed to have been seen were still being called in before him. He was getting worried now - and the other people in the hallway were starting to shoot him suspicious glances.

He got to his feet and went back over to the front desk, 'uh - excuse me,' he said to the lady. She looked up at him. 'Can I help you?' she didn't sound particularly like she wanted to be helpful.

'Um - yeah - I was supposed to have my appointment to pick up my marriage license nearly an hour ago, I was just wonderin'...'

'The registrar must be running late,' she said to him, sounding bored. Doyle nodded. 'But - uh - he's callin' in people who have arrived after I'm supposed to have already left. No one else is bein' left hangin' around for hours, like me. Would you mind, maybe, checkin' he hasn't forgotten about me?'

The woman sighed and got to her feet - she did not appear happy at being asked to intervene. Doyle watched her, feeling guilty - and telling himself he was being ridiculous, it was OK to make a fuss - Americans made a fuss all the time, he was allowed to demand better quality service. She knocked on the office door and then, after a moment, disappeared inside. When she came back she sat down at her desk and started tapping away on her computer.

Doyle swallowed. 'Um - what did he say?' he asked. She looked up at him irritated. 'Oh - you're still here. He says he knows you're waiting, you just need to wait your turn.'

He nodded and thanked her and went to sit back down. Now he was feeling annoyed with himself. He shouldn't have thanked her. He _had _waited his turn. More than waited. If Cordelia were here she would march right up to that door, yank it open and demand to be seen right now. He imagined doing that himself, but then shook his head - he was being silly. That was not his style. No one would buy it coming from him. At best he'd be laughed at and told to sit back down. At worst he'd be arrested for disturbing the peace or something.

At half past twelve, the latest person had been called into the office and the lady behind the desk picked up her bag and disappeared. Presumably gone for lunch. No one else turned up for an appointment - probably because it was the lunch hour, he assumed - and so Doyle was left alone in the hallway. He sighed and got to his feet. This was ridiculous - he'd be better off leaving now and sending Cordy another time. He'd like to see them try and pull a stunt like this on her … well, he'd like to hear about it later. It would be far too embarrassing watching her, in real time, as she yelled at people and forced her way into offices and demanded to speak with the mayor.

He had just pressed the button to call the elevator, when the office door opened and the registrar appeared in the hallway. 'Mr. Doyle?' he asked. Doyle looked round, surprised and nodded. 'I'm sorry to keep you waiting - would you come this way?' The door was pushed open wider and the registrar ushered the Irishman inside.

* * *

Wesley headed for the door - wanting to get out of this enclosed space with his father, wanting to get rid of him. Just these few minutes had brought up … so much. The disappointment, the humiliations, the constant grinding down of his self esteem, the ever present sense of failure … and all those hours locked under the stairs. 'This is no time to be stubborn boy,' Roger called out to him. 'The council are giving you a chance to clear your name … our name.'

Yes that was the crux of it. The nub. Watching was a family tradition, passed down from generation to generation. The Giles'. The Wyndam Pryces. The Posts. The Travers'. And the actions of one of their clansmen would reflect on the family lineage and reputation forever more. Great things had been expected of Wesley, growing up. And his father had been hard on him to make sure he lived up to his name. Too hard. Much much too hard. Expected too much too soon - and punished harshly any failure to live up to expectation, grinding down his son until he was afraid of his own shadow. The resulting failure - with Buffy, with Faith - had been almost inevitable. But it had stained his father's reputation as well as his own - and he knew Roger would never forgive him for that.

The only way to break free was - to break free. What he'd already done. Find a new family and use his skills learned at the academy to help them, free from the constant criticism. He was a new man now - unrecognisable. But even these few minutes with Roger had worked to strip so much of that away; remove the competent, skilled leader who could make the hard decisions - leaving only the quivering, frightened wreck in his place. He opened the door and held it open. 'I'm sorry you made the trip, but I'm perfectly happy where I am.'

'Ha!' Roger let out a bark of laughter and got to his feet. 'Wolfram and Hart! So this is a haven of evil is it?' he walked through the door. Wesley followed him out, 'not any more,' he protested, 'this isn't the Wolfram and Hart…' he tripped over his own feet and bumped into the door frame. As he righted himself, he stumbled into a woman walking past, knocking all her papers to the ground. 'Oh sorry!' He crouched down and helped her pick up the scattered paper, as she assured him it was fine. Above his head, his father tutted, impatiently. Wesley cringed.

'Sorry,' he said, one last time to the woman as she walked away. He got back to his feet. 'You have the wrong idea about this place,' he said to his father.

'Do I? The atrocities committed by Wolfram and Hart are well documented.'

Wesley shook his head - that was precisely what they were working to change. Things were different now. In their hands, the firm was becoming a powerful weapon for good - one that would make a huge difference in the battle against evil. 'Believe me we take our work here very seriously.'

...

The elevator door opened and Lorne walked into the lobby, talking on his cellphone and laughing exuberantly. 'You're killing me. If Louis Gossett, Jr. wants this foam party to happen, he'll keep his mouth zipped tight. I've been working on this guest list all week. Yes, my entire week. I don't care about Iron Eagle II, Van. Nobody did. Oh, no. Don't tell him that.'

...

Hearing the content of the demon's conversation, Mr. Wyndam Pryce raised a sceptical and mocking eyebrow at his son. Wesley closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Once he'd opened them again, Lorne had hung up the phone and was standing right in front of them - grinning. 'Wesley Wyndam Pryce, you should be ashamed - I didn't know you had a younger brother.'

Wesley grimaced and tried to turn it into a smile. 'Lorne. Yes. This is my father, Roger Wyndam Pryce.'

'How do you do?' Roger bowed his head in greeting. Lorne looked delighted. 'A father? I don't believe it.' He shook his hand and laughed, and then leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. 'Well OK, I do - but only because I heard you were in the building.' He laughed again and pulled back to get a better look at the older man. 'Well look at you, It's like Winston Churchill and a young Richard Harris had a beautiful love child. Which, according to my sources, may not be as ridiculous as it sounds.'

'Lorne runs our entertainment division,' Wesley told his father, stiffly.

'Entertainment division? Yes - I can see how that would be very useful in the fight against evil.'

'You'd be amazed at how many horrible movies we've stopped.' Gunn came down the stairs, also grinning. Wesley sighed again. 'Gunn, this is my father.'

'It's an honour,' Gunn said, shaking Roger's hand. 'This place is buzzing about you. Better watch out. If you're anything like your son we might put you to work.'

'You might well be out of luck.'

Both Lorne and Gunn were being so pleasant, so smooth, so delighted to meet Wyndam Pryce senior. They missed the sneer in Roger's voice as he demurred against being compared to his son. They just didn't hear it - they carried on smiling, exchanging pleasantries - like proper grownups. He didn't affect them the way he affected Wesley, they couldn't feel every ounce of confidence and capability just melting away as they stood beside him, until nothing was left but an insecure, neurotic nub. They couldn't know what was standing in front of them. What it was doing to Wesley.

'Hey listen,' Gunn said to the younger watcher, 'the lab called for you. They're working on Robocop upstairs. They need your help.'

'We encountered a cyborg last night whilst we were infiltrating a weapons ring,' Wesley explained to his father. I should head up there…' he gritted his teeth. 'Would you like to come along?'

'Yes - if I'm not in the way.'

He gave his head a curt shake, 'no, not at all' and led his father up the staircase. Lorne and Gunn glanced at each other - and then headed back to work.

* * *

Doyle took his seat, in the office, and the registrar went round to his side of the desk and sat down. 'Evan,' he said, sticking his hand out. Doyle shook it, 'D - uh - Francis,' he said in reply.

Evan nodded and opened up the file on his desk. 'And you're here to pick up your marriage license - that correct?'

Doyle nodded.

'And your wife to be isn't here with you?'

'No she - she had to work.'

'Oh that's a shame,' Evan smiled, 'today's a big day. What does she do?'

'Well - today she's modellin' knitwear for knittin' patterns,' he said, thanking providence she wasn't out slaying vampires, demons and the forces of darkness.

'You're marrying a model?' the registrar sounded - and looked - surprised. Doyle frowned. 'Yeah … am I really that hideous that you're surprised a pretty girl might wanna marry me?'

'No-no of course not,' he chuckled uncomfortably. 'I would have just thought in your circumstances… but then maybe she doesn't know.'

'Know what? What's wrong with my circumstances?'

'Nothing, nothing. Now let me see.' He squinted down at the papers. 'Allen Francis Doyle - birth date May 23rd 1974, born Dublin, Ireland is marrying Cordelia Diana Chase - birth date January 14th 1981, born Sunnydale, California - that right?'

Doyle nodded again, 'I got all the proof of ID and stuff if you need to see it,' he offered. But the registrar shook his head. 'Not necessary,' he said. He looked through the file and began to frown.

'Is there somethin' wrong?' Doyle asked him anxiously.

'Well now - there is some irregularity...'

Doyle felt his heart sink.

* * *

The dead cyborg from the night before was now up in the lab, laid out on a table - its chest had been cracked and Fred was examining the insides, explaining her findings to Angel and Lilah.

'We found cybernetics throughout the body,' she said to them, 'in most places replacing entire organic systems.'

'Was it human?' Angel asked. She nodded. At least, they thought so. The nervous system seemed human - if nothing else - but the rest of the technology was so foreign to them that they couldn't be sure of anything. 'This thing really blurs the line between human and robot,' she said.

Over in the corner, playing with a glass beaker - attempting to concentrate hard enough that he could touch it - Spike glanced across at the huddled group. 'Aha! So you're not ruling out the possibility that a human being could have boffed a robot?' He saw their blank expressions staring back at him. 'Sex with robots is more common than most people think,' he told them. Lilah's lip curled in disgust. Spike went back to trying to interfere with the beaker.

Fred continued to stare at Spike for a couple of moments - but then she blinked and forced her mind back to the subject at hand. She had some good news - if they could decipher the technology. 'The cybernetics require central processing to function. Which means, if we can crack its memory, we may find a record of everything it's done to this point.'

Angel nodded, 'and maybe find out who or what it wanted.'

There was the sound of glass shattering - they all looked up. The beaker was in pieces on the floor and Spike was looking very pleased with himself. 'Hey did you -' he saw their unimpressed expressions. 'Sorry.' He held his hands up in apology.

'So far we haven't had much luck decoding the encryption,' Fred said, ignoring the interruption. Knox came out of her office and walked up behind her. 'It seems to be a binary based system, so we'll get there eventually,' he told the others. 'We just have to find the right transform variable.'

Angel nodded again. 'OK - I need you on this till we get some answers.'

'Let us know if you need more resources,' Lilah said - then she and Angel turned to leave the lab.

But they were blocked in the doorway by the arrival of Wesley and his father. The younger watcher introduced Roger to the assembled team. Spike raised an eyebrow and left the corner he was lurking in to come and get a better look. 'Daddy eh?' he said, scanning the older man up and down. 'I always thought Wesley was grown in some sort of greenhouse for dandies.'

'Spike,' Roger said. His voice was hard. Unimpressed.

Spike, on the other hand, was delighted - his facing lighting up in a grin. 'Oh! you've heard of me?'

'No. We've met,' Mr. Wyndam Pryce told him, shortly. '1963. My colleagues and I fell upon you slaughtering an orphanage in Vienna. Killed two of my men before you escaped.'

'Oh … how've you been?'

The older watcher snorted in disgust and Spike returned to his lurking corner. 'Wesley I didn't know your father was visiting,' Angel said, sounding surprised. He held his hand out to introduce himself, 'I'm Angel, pleasure to meet you.'

Roger stared at the offered hand disdainfully. 'You can't honestly expect me to shake that?'

'Well I'm not really comfortable with hugging…'

Standing beside his father, Wesley sighed deeply. Lilah caught his eye and gave him a smile. A real one, soft and warm - not the usual wolf's grin. Wesley smiled back in gratitude.

Having failed to even raise a smile from the old man, Angel was shuffling uncomfortably; clearing his throat and trying to extricate himself from the situation. 'No - well - I realise that this must be something of a horror show for you. But - uh - I hope you can keep an open mind. We're doing good work here.'

'So I'm informed,' Roger replied, coldly, 'incessantly.'

Angel gave Wesley a commiserating glance - and then he shuffled out of the lab, glad to be away. Lilah followed him out. After they were gone - Wesley spoke to Fred. 'I heard we could be of some use.'

She nodded and showed them over to the autopsy table and indicated a circular device embedded in the robot's abdomen. It had strange symbols inscribed on it, which they hadn't been able to decipher. But they were getting trace radiation signatures from it - so were unwilling to just crack it open. 'It could be a bomb, or some kind of self destruct, device. Anyway, we wanted you to decipher it before we went digging around in there.' She spoke to Roger, then, smiling in admiration as she did. 'Wesley handles this stuff all the time. He's a genius when it comes to languages.'

'Yes,' Roger agreed, 'well he wasn't made head boy of the academy for nothing.'

Across the room, Spike raised an eyebrow. Roger took his glasses off and began to clean them. 'Though as I recall, pickings were rather slim that year.'

Wesley sighed.

* * *

Evan got up from his desk and walked across the room, to a filing cabinet, opening up one of the drawers and rooting inside. Doyle twisted in his seat to look at him. 'An irregularity?' he asked, 'what sort o' irregularity? Can we fix it?'

'I'm not sure there is a fix - your circumstances - they are … unique.' He must have found what he was looking for because he suddenly closed the drawer shut. But whatever it was he had, Doyle didn't see - as he hastily slipped it in his pocket.

The registrar began to head back to his desk and Doyle twisted in his seat once more, so his eyes could track him across the room. 'That's the second time you've mentioned my circumstances, bud,' he said. 'What's wrong with my circumstances? Is it because I'm Irish? 'Cause I'm tellin y' - I'm marryin' Cordelia 'cause I'm crazy about her, the whole Green Card thing is just a bonus. Our relationship is the real deal.'

'I'm sure it is, Mr. Doyle.' Evan came to a stop behind Doyle's chair and stood still. Doyle twisted right round to look at him - but the man stood quite still and just stared down at him, his hand in his pocket, and eventually the crick in his neck meant that the Irishman had to twist back away.

And that was when Evan whipped the Kosh out of his pocket and brought it down hard on the back of Doyle's head. Doyle only had time to think 'ow', before he slumped forward onto the desk - and everything went black.

* * *

Wesley leaned over the body of the cyborg, trying to blot out his father's words - his constant criticisms, his all too familiar belittling and undermining comments - and started to study the symbols. 'The pattern indicates a Hellenic derivation,' he said, frowning, thoughtfully. 'I'd say early Moracian, in fact. It's a directive of some sort. A battle prayer … or a binding spell. The full text is obscured.' He pulled some of the cyborg's flesh away, revealing more of the device. 'I'll need to prepare some sort of effective counter spell…'

He was cut off by the device suddenly lighting up and starting to beep. Knox and Fred stared at Wesley - their faces frightened. Roger frowned down at the beeping. 'What did you just do?' he demanded.

Wesley stared around at them all - horror stricken - but when he spoke his voice was deadly calm. 'Unless I'm very much mistaken, I've just activated the bomb.'


	27. Lineage: Part Two

_Part Two_

When Doyle regained consciousness, he found himself stashed in a supply cupboard and handcuffed to a radiator. He groaned. 'Man, this can't be good.' He reached up with his free hand and touched the tender spot on the back of his head, where he had been hit. 'Oh man,' he groaned again. 'Ow.'

He brought his hand back round and peered through the gloom at his fingertips, squinting to see if there was any blood. There didn't seem to be - that was something, at least. And he wasn't dead - so he had that going for him as well. But on the other hand - the registrar turned out to be a crazy person, and Doyle was now kidnapped. And he still didn't have the marriage license.

The handcuff was cutting into his right wrist - biting and painful, he twisted around, trying to wriggle free of it - but he knew it was hopeless. There was no way he could slide his hand out, that was the point of them. He tried tugging on them - hoping he could break the rings linking the two cuffs together - but that didn't work either. With a surreptitious glance at the door, he morphed into his demon face and tried to pull the cuffs apart using his added demon strength. But even in the spikes - he just wasn't that strong - not strong enough to break metal, anyway. He wasn't actually sure that Angel would be strong enough to bust apart handcuffs - or Cordy, for that matter. He didn't have a hope.

But he did still have his phone, he realised, becoming aware of the weight of it in his pocket as he thought about it. Clearly he was Evan's first kidnap victim. The registrar had probably panicked, once he'd knocked the Irishman out; dragged him to the cupboard, chained him up. But he'd forgotten to rifle through his pockets and get rid of his cell phone. _Rookies. _

Doyle twisted again, this time pulling himself away from the radiator and angling himself upward in an attempt to reach his pocket. His phone was in the right hand pocket of his brown leather jacket - and if he could just stretch his left arm across… but it was no good. The pocket was deep and his arms were short - and restricted by the jacket itself, and the awkward position he was in. He took a deep breath and tried again - willing his fumbling fingers to stretch just a half an inch further.

He grit his teeth and screwed up his eyes and forced his hand as far into his pocket as he could reach, tilting his body to try and get the phone to fall into his stretching grasp. Nothing. And the pain in his wrist, from straining against the cuff, was becoming unbearable. He slumped back down - and tried pulling on the cuffs again.

* * *

The lights blinked faster and the beeping intensified. 'Did you see a trip mechanism?' Knox asked Wesley. 'You mean the one I just tripped?' Wesley barked back at him. 'Get everyone out of here! We have to evacuate the entire building.'

Everyone in the lab began to flee towards the door. Spike pushed his way through them - panic on his face - and then came to a stop and shook his head, chuckling. 'Wait, what the hell am I worried about?'

Wesley was still poring over the body of the cyborg - frantically trying to decipher the symbols and work out where he had gone wrong, how he could stop this. People were still streaming out of the lab from every direction. 'Look for an incident device,' Fred said from beside him, 'a switch or a circuit breaker.'

'There's nothing,' he replied, rooting through the corpse, ignoring the reflexive urge to draw away from the slippery feel of the guts. Then his brain clicked into place, he stopped what he was doing and stared at Fred. 'You have to get out of here,' he told her, grabbing her arm and dragging her towards the door - pushing a path through the other escaping people. 'Get away from this building,' he told her urgently, 'as far as possible. We have no idea how powerful the blast could be.'

'What about you?'

'I'll stay with the bomb. Try to diffuse it. It could be our only …' There was a sudden, deafening silence as the device stopped beeping. The hush crashed onto the lab, like a heavy fog, settling on them all. Smothering them. Wesley looked up - over to the body, to find his father standing calmly by its side. 'What did you do?' he asked.

'These symbols were in fact Dutrovic in origin,' Roger told him. 'Not Moracian, as you surmised. When interpreted correctly, these symbols spell out the proper procedure for handling the cyborg's power core, including this fail safe - in case someone trips the self-destruct device. Quite simple really.'

Wesley stared at him - and felt the sudden familiar sinking feeling of failure. Another failure. In front of his father. In front of Fred. In front of everyone.

* * *

Cordelia was on a coffee break, a robe wrapped around her knitwear, protecting it until she was in front of the camera. So far - today was good. No one was evil. They were shooting outdoors - in the sunshine, so she knew for a fact there were no vampires and no guys with horns. Today was something she could put in her portfolio - and the more she built that up, the more work she would get.

Yeah, today would be great - if only Doyle would ring her and tell her how the appointment had gone. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, frowning. Still nothing. He should have picked up their license hours ago. And he knew she was fretting about it - so she would have expected a call once it was all done, even if he couldn't reach her and just left a voicemail, she would expect him to tell her he had it and everything was fine.

It just wasn't like Doyle to not call her and tell her everything was fine. To not realise she would be worrying. So that could only mean that maybe everything wasn't fine. Which only made her worry all the more.

'Cordy - we're ready for you,' the photographer called to her. She put down her coffee, stuck her cell back in her pocket and shrugged off the robe. Maybe he'd had a vision, and was too busy to call, she thought to herself - as she leaned against a fence and showed off her sweater. Or maybe he'd gone to have a drink to celebrate and lost track of the time - though she would give him a piece of her mind if that turned out to be true… or maybe there really was something wrong, the little niggling voice in the back of her head whispered to her.

She smiled brightly - and had her photo taken.

* * *

For the second time that day, Wesley had been pulled into Angel's office. Fred was with him this time, and Spike, and Angel was seated behind his desk - instead of pacing and glowering. He didn't seem angry, either - just confused. 'What happened?'

'I can explain,' Spike stepped up, eagerly. 'Apparently, when Percy here was younger,' he jerked a thumb in Wesley's direction. 'He used to be known as … _Head. Boy_.' His face was lit up by a delighted grin.

Angel sighed, wearily. 'Yeah. I already knew that.'

Right,' Spike nodded. 'I have nothing else to report,' he took a step back.

It was Wesley's turn to sigh. 'I accidentally tripped the cyborg's self destruct mechanism,' he admitted.

'Anyone could have made the mistake,' Fred immediately jumped in to defend him. 'Wesley was just trying to interpret some symbols for us.'

'Luckily my father was there to correct my error.'

Angel nodded. 'Right, your father - where is he anyway?'

...

Roger sat in Lorne's office, his hand resting on his brow, as the demon regaled him with stories of his life among the starlets of Hollywood. 'So there I am - covered in cherries. The police are pounding on the door and Judi Dench starts screaming "oh that's way too much to pay for a pair of pants",' he laughed out loud. Roger rubbed his head.

...

'Maybe I should go and rescue him,' Fred wondered, thinking about the situation. She headed out of the door. 'I'm finished here too,' Spike said. 'If you want, I can have someone type up the report about head boy.'

'Get out.'

'Suit yourself.' He followed Fred out of the door, leaving Wesley and Angel alone. Angel leaned back in his chair and stared at the watcher. 'What went wrong?'

'It was a stupid mistake,' Wesley told him bitterly.

'Yeah, well - your father's visit has rattled you.'

Wesley nodded. 'I can't think straight when he's around.'

'Gets inside your head - stops you seeing the big picture. I get it. I do. I lived in terror of my father when I was alive. I was a constant disappointment - he told me that frequently. You know I named Connor after him? Guess I was feeling sentimental that day - and now I look at him and just hope I don't make all the same mistakes my old man did... You'll get through this, Wes. Your father's visit can't last forever.'

'He wants me to go back to England,' Wesley told him, 'to join the newly reformed watcher's council. Or at least - he's here to assess whether or not I'm good enough for them.'

There was a long silence. 'Do you wanna go back to England?' Angel asked him, quietly.

'No. This is my home now. My family. You, Connor, Fred…'

'But your father's the only one you've got. Even if he does make you fall over your own feet.'

Wesley didn't answer and - after another quiet moment - Angel reached into a drawer in his desk and pulled out a folder. 'In the meantime, you should see this,' he said. 'Came from your department. Reports of assassins that sound a lot like your cyborg.' He handed the file across and Wesley began to read the report, his brow puckering into frown lines as he read.

'Hmmm. Group of them took out a demon cabal in Jakarta. Another group destroyed the Tanmar Death Chamber. Sounds like they're doing our work for us.'

'These are good guys?' Angel sounded surprised.

'I don't know,' Wesley told him - there wasn't enough evidence to go on as yet. 'I should reference this with the markings we found. Find these clues as to their origin.'

'Get on it. If these guys are on our side, then someone should tell them that before they start trying to kill us again.'

* * *

As he left Angel's office, he came across Fred walking his father down the hall - away from Lorne. She was laughing as he regaled her with stories from Wesley's childhood. 'He was how old?' she giggled.

'Oh - 6 or 7. He must have taken the scroll from my library.' He turned to his son. 'I was just telling Winifred about the time I caught you with the resurrection spell.'

Wesley worked to suppress the memory of his father's anger, that day- of being dragged from his room and locked under the stairs for hours, whilst Roger hissed at him how stupid he was, how much damage he could have done, how much trouble he caused, how he would never be good enough. Not for daddy and not for the council. He held himself stiff in order to stop himself from flinching. 'Oh right,' he said - his voice calm but cold.

'I couldn't remember. Why were you doing that?' Roger asked him. Wesley felt Fred watching him, a warm smile on her face as she waited for an answer. 'A bird had flown into my window pane,' he said. 'I think I was trying to bring it back to life.'

'I can't believe you could read a resurrection spell when you were seven,' Fred said to him, her voice was full of admiration - and still held the trace of laughter in it. She liked these stories of little Wesley - he could tell.

'Oh his mother thought he was quite the prodigy,' Roger told her. She didn't catch it - but Wesley did. Mum thought. Not him. No. Never him. He never thought there was anything special - anything worthwhile about his son. And he made it sound like Mrs. Wyndam Pryce was nothing but a daft, doting mother - wanting to believe that her unremarkable son was special - whilst he could see the truth, clear eyed. Wesley was nothing. Roger didn't have to say all that out loud for Wesley to get the message - he heard in it what wasn't said as much as what was. And he had a whole lifetime of understanding the nuance in his father's words - recognising the debasement in just his tones.

'Well luckily I caught him, or we'd have had zombie birds pecking out his little eyeballs,' Roger finished up. Fred giggled in delight. Just like Lorne and Gunn earlier, she didn't hear the sneer. Maybe it was because they were American - weren't used to decoding every sentence the way the British did, understanding that they weren't really saying what they were saying. They were saying what they weren't saying. Americans just said it as it was - they didn't have a lifetime's experience of filling in the gaps to get to the true meaning.

Or maybe it was just because they didn't know Roger. Didn't hear the way the older man made himself the hero of the story - saving Wesley from himself. Didn't realise he was simply telling another story of a time Wesley failed at something, made a mistake, caused mayhem and had to be rescued by his father, had his error corrected, had Roger put it right. Fred didn't look beneath the surface - connect the dots and see that, coming on the tails of the near explosion in the lab, Roger was simply doubling down on the fact that Wesley always failed, and his father always put it right - that that had been the case 30 years ago, it was the case now and it would be the case forevermore. Wesley was a failure - always had been and would be until his dying day. Never as good as his father. And Mr. Wyndam Pryce was telling this story purely to remind Wesley of his place - and to undermine him in front of his friends, even if they didn't realise what was going on.

But he swallowed all that down and didn't say anything, didn't let on. After all, his father was not the only Englishman in the room. Wesley could repress his feelings and talk in opposite speak as well as the rest of them - no matter how long he lived in the States. 'I was hoping to enlist your expertise in some research,' he said to his father. Beside him, Fred beamed - at the thought of the two Pryce's - the two great watcher's - hitting the books together. She didn't understand that he meant he would rather drive an ice pick through his eye than spend time with his father, and he neither wanted nor needed his help.

His father got it though. He knew they were fencing. 'Oh no,' he chuckled, 'you're not going to try and blow me up again are you?'

'Probably not.'

'Well then, my expertise is yours.'

Fred laughed again. She thought they were joking. She was mistaking this for friendly banter, completely missing the passive aggressive Olympics taking place right under her nose.

...

Wesley showed his father towards his office, away from Fred - and she watched them leave, smiling after them. 'I don't know what you're smiling at.' She turned her head and saw that Lilah had come up beside her, and unlike Fred, she was not smiling. 'Oh..um...' the smile slid from her face.

'You have no idea, do you?' Lilah asked her, 'what that man is? What this visit is doing to Wesley.' It was her turn to smile then, her dangerous, mocking grin. 'But then I guess you just don't know Wesley like I do.'

* * *

Doyle didn't know how long he had been locked in the cupboard, or how long he'd been unconscious before that. It was too dark to make out his watch hands in the gloom, but he was guessing it had been a long while. He was hungry, thirsty and he needed to pee - the coffee in the waiting room must have been a good few hours ago by now. But, frustrating as being kidnapped - yet again - was, and as much as his wrist hurt from all the straining, he carried on wrestling with the handcuff trying to work his way free. 'Stupid son of a …' he muttered to himself, twisting his hand inside the metal, trying to force it through the bracelet. 'Just a bit … ughh ngghhh… dammit!'

He stopped for a moment, allowing himself to take a breather. Literally. He took a few deep breaths, working up the willpower to keep going. Dear sweet Jesus. How many kidnappings was this now? He wondered. Must be at least 4. Plus that time he got sucked into Pylea and then sold as a slave and put in prison. The only person he knew who had been abducted or held hostage more times than himself was Cordy, and he wondered if this final time would make them equal. No… surely not. Cordelia had been kidnapped every other week back in Sunnydale. He had a long way to go before he topped her total … assuming he made it out of this one alive.

He twisted again so he was leaning against the radiator and leant his head back against it, closing his eyes. It came as a surprise that Evan the registrar was crazy, he thought to himself. He seemed like such a normal guy, doing a normal job - but here he was stashing folks in stock cupboards. He should have realised something was wrong when his appointment was delayed and he was made to wait until there was absolutely no one else left on the entire floor before he was taken inside. That seemed obvious enough now. But why? Why had Evan selected him? Was it because the registrar knew who Doyle and Cordy were? Or was it completely unrelated to the demon underworld. Maybe Evan had picked Doyle because he was the only person who had turned up alone.

'Well that would be ironic,' he muttered to himself, '...and really embarrassin'.' To spend his life facing off against demons and monsters and unspeakable evil, to save the whole world from an insane former higher power's enslavement - and then be taken prisoner and killed by some regular Joe, Son of Sam type serial killer. 'Jesus, I'll wind up being talked about on true crime documentaries,' he realised, 'me Ma bein' interviewed, tellin' the world what a good lad I was, though I never did make altar boy, and she should never have let me go to America in the first place… man, please let this guy be a demon!'

He jumped - suddenly banging his already sore head against the radiator, as he felt the phone in his pocket begin to vibrate. He twisted again to try and reach it - come on, just an inch further … but it was no good. Eventually the ringing stopped. Then five minutes later it started up again. It would be Cordelia. She would have expected to hear from him hours ago, she must be getting worried. And he felt guilty that he was making her worry but - in these circumstances her concern was justified, and there was nothing he could do about it.

But if she was already worried, then it wouldn't take much longer for her to start to panic. And then she would come looking for him. All he had to do was sit tight and wait to be rescued. He just hoped he would be left alone until she turned up…

The door opened, and he groaned. So much for that hope. He brought his free hand up to shield his eyes from the sudden light from the room next door - he could see out and realised that his cupboard adjoined Evan's office. Then a dark shape blocked the light - as the registrar appeared in the doorway.

* * *

Wesley led his father into his office, 'the Dutrovic markings suggest an eastern origin,' he said, heading for his desk and the templates he kept there. 'There might be something in the journals of Saitama.'

His father had stopped and was perusing a bookcase, he didn't appear to be listening. 'That … uh … Winifred, she seems delightful,' he said - his voice casual. Wesley straightened up. 'Yes, she's a very special person,' he replied in clipped tones.

'So … you think a lot of her,' he pulled a book from the shelf and flipped through it, not looking at his son. 'Does she know how you feel about her?'

'I'm really not going to discuss this with you.' He selected the template he wanted and then turned to face his father, his expression closed and uninviting.

'Oh you already have a girlfriend do you?' Roger glanced up and saw the look on his son's face. He put his own book down and when he spoke, he sounded exasperated. 'Well, Wesley, how am I supposed to know these things?'

'For starters you might have asked.'

'Well I'm asking now.' Then he laughed, 'what a surprise you're being defensive.'

Wesley sighed and leaned against his desk, 'You want to know about me? I ended the last relationship I was in about a year ago - we fought on opposite sides of the war. Since taking this job I have to see her everyday - and she is not allowing me to forget the … complicated path I have chosen to take.'

'And Winifred?'

'Doesn't come into it.'

Roger nodded thoughtfully, 'is that so?'

'Considering this is the most personal conversation we've ever had about me - that has not directly revolved around me being fired by the council - I think that is enough for now.'

Roger took off his glasses and began to clean them. 'Quite so quite so … look, all I'm saying is that if you like this girl then you should tell her.'

'I have work to do, father.' He lifted the spine of his book up to his lips and whispered. 'The Saitama codex,' then he opened the book and watched the words magically scrawl across the page.

Roger frowned. 'What did you just do?' he asked, indicating the book. Wesley looked up from his book and began to explain the templates, how they could be used to call forth anything from their archive.

'So you can simply call forth something as powerful as the Saitama Codex?' Roger asked, looking troubled. Wesley nodded. 'Yes, our archive is quite extensive. We have … well, almost any text you can think of.'

Roger was looking more than troubled now. 'Do you realise how dangerous those books are,' he asked, incredulously, pointing at the tome in Wesley's hand.

'Well, in the wrong hands of course,' Wesley shrugged, flipping through the pages, scanning for the text for anything that matched the markings on the cyborg.

'Yes, yes - of course. So you have them displayed - open, on a table.'

'The most powerful items in my department I keep in my vault,' he said, wearily. 'I know what I'm doing father.'

'Well I hope your vault is safer than this room. Do you even have a lock on that door over there?'

Wesley lost the last of his patience - it had been a long time coming. 'Gaining access to this building isn't easy,' he snapped. 'Believe me, the books are safe where they are.'

* * *

High above the building, a helicopter hovered over the roof. Six ropes were let down and then six black clad figures scaled down them and landed, silently, on the roof of Wolfram and Hart.

* * *

The elevator door opened and Lilah stepped inside. She pressed the button and the doors slid shut. But before she had even begun to move, Spike appeared by her side. 'You're getting pretty good at popping up out of nowhere,' Lilah remarked. 'I see you're getting the hang of the ghost life.'

'You do see don't you,' Spike replied.

'Beg pardon?'

'Not to sound self absorbed, but you can't seem to keep your eyes off me.'

She raised a sardonic eyebrow and laughed, 'perhaps I'm just comparing cheekbones. You know, I'm not used to the competition.'

'Uhuh - and perhaps there's something more to it than that. Aint that the truth, shady lady?'

'I can't even be bothered to ask you what you mean.'

Spike made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. 'Don't give me that.' He peered at her intently, she stared straight ahead - as if to block him out. 'It was you that gave Angel the amulet, wasn't it?' he said, 'the shiny little bauble that flash fried me in a pillar of fire and then left me a bleedin' Casper - spiriting the knick knacks around Angel's 30 floor castle.'

'I gave him the amulet,' Lilah agreed, 'and I think it helped save someone's life. Who was it again? Someone called … _Buffy_? You're welcome, by the way. But I didn't know what it would do. I was just the messenger. Don't shoot me.'

'As if I could,' Spike said, he waved his hands at her, 'having a little trouble interacting with the corporeal world as of right now, but see - here's the thing, Lauren Bacall, I don't believe that you're a nobody in this - a little Betty Joan. You're a player.'

'You give me too much credit - I'm a liaison - nothing more,' she shrugged.

'Right,' he scoffed again. 'To The Senior Partners - the big wigs in the sky.'

'Oh I think they're a little bit lower than that.'

'But they delivered up the amulet - through you - to Angel. Meaning it was him they always intended to make a ghost. Not me. So why don't they just let me go?'

Lilah turned her head slightly so she could see him better, she glanced at him - raking him over with her eyes. 'Who ever said the amulet was intended for Angel?' she smirked. And then the elevator ground to a halt and the lights went out. 'That's irritating,' she muttered - jabbing at the buttons, but with no success.

'I know what this is,' Spike muttered to himself, looking around at the sudden darkness. 'You'll never take me to hell, Pavayne!' he yelled out. The emergency lights kicked in, casting a sickly green glow throughout the lift, and in this new semi-light, he saw Lilah staring at him, a very amused smile playing on her lips. He blushed. 'Oh, well… uh… that's just something I say, when it … gets dark,' he explained.

* * *

Out in the lobby, the loud siren of the alarm sounded - blaring out into the greenlit space. Angel marched out of his office, determined to find out what the hell was going on. 'We've lost power, communications,' Gunn told him, coming out of his own office.

'All right - can somebody please shut off the …' the alarm stopped screeching. Angel nodded in satisfaction. 'That's better.'

'I'm not sure it is,' Gunn told him, 'I think that means we lost security too.'

Spike suddenly appeared in the lobby, apparating to just outside of the elevator. 'Uh - there's something wrong with the lift,' he announced. No one paid him any attention.

'Get security online,' Angel barked. 'Find out if this is a false alarm.'

A back clad cyborg rappelled down from the ceiling and knocked out one of the swarms of lawyers milling around. 'I don't think it's a false alarm,' Gunn said - as more dark figures dropped down to the floor behind Angel.

* * *

Wesley and his father had been working away in Wes' office when the lights suddenly died and the alarm sounded. Roger looked up. 'Does this sort of thing happen very often around here?'

Wesley got to his feet, frowning. 'We should…' he was cut off by a cyborg bursting into the room, wielding a chain - as they had done the night before. 'Down!' Wesley yelled at his father, pushing him to the ground, so that the chain passed harmlessly over their heads. Then he scrabbled across the room and grabbed hold of a sword, hanging on the wall. He launched himself forward, attacking the cyborg, now he was armed - but the cyborg just shoved him out of the way, sending him flying across the room. He smashed into the bookshelf and landed on the floor in a crumpled heap.

With Wesley out of the way, the cyborg ran towards the desk - right towards the templates. Roger was rooted to the spot, just watching. 'Father!' Wesley threw his sword to Mr. Wyndam Pryce, who caught it - and immediately went on the offensive, engaging the cyborg. As the two of them fought, Wesley got back to his feet, lumbered towards the dark figure and thumped him hard. It staggered backwards and fell to the ground. 'What are you doing?' Roger demanded, 'I had attack priority.'

'We're not fencing!'

'We still observe the niceties.'

By now, the cyborg had got back to its feet. Wesley snatched the sword from his father's hand and plunged it into the robot's gut. It fell back down again - this time emanating blue sparks and crackles of electricity. 'There may be more of them in the building,' Wesley said. 'We should get moving.'

'That thing went straight for the templates when he burst into the room. You can't leave them like that.'

Wesley sighed as he considered his options. 'Grab them,' he said, 'come with me.'

* * *

Doyle took a deep breath. _Try not to act like he's crazy _he thought to himself. _Keep it pleasant. _'Uh - hey, Evan,' he smiled, 'how's it goin'? Listen. Bud - I - uh -' he chuckled, 'I can't help noticin' I appear to be chained to a radiator, a little bit. I mean - if y' could just tell me what's goin' on … maybe there's been some kind o' misunderstandin' or…'

'There's no misunderstanding.'

'Ohhhh_kay_. So, if you don't mind me askin',' he held up his hand, revealing the handcuffs that chained him in place, 'why?'

'Nobody else saw it,' the registrar told him. 'Nobody else understood. But I did.'

_Great _Doyle thought, _an evil monologue - just what we need. This better be quick, 'cause I am dyin' to pee._

'Your blood tests,' Evan said. Doyle slumped back and closed his eyes. 'They came back wrong,' the registrar explained. 'At least - everyone thought they were wrong, they didn't make sense. There was something ... extra there. Something that wasn't identifiable as _human_.'

Doyle opened his eyes again and looked up at the man standing above him, 'look, bud…' he started to say.

'But that's impossible, right?' Evan said, he gave a little laugh. 'You can't _not_ be human. You didn't have any of the diseases and stuff they were looking for, you weren't related to your wife to be, so they shrugged off the weird stuff - signed off on your marriage license. But me … I knew what it meant. You're not human. Not completely anyway. Are you, half breed?'

'How do you know about this stuff?' Doyle asked him.

'When I was kid - just six or so - my dad left us. It happens to lots of kids. Except - most dads don't leave their wives for broads with lilac skin and bright pink hair. I'd go to his house for the summer - she'd taken him right the way across to Florida, they lived in this festering swamp - and see her, and all the freaks just like her. And then one year I had a new baby brother. He looked just like me. Except he had electric pink eyes. Next year it was a sister - she could pass even better than my brother could, especially once she was old enough that people believed she dyed her hair that colour. And I had to see them - these freaks - playing happy families with my dad, when he abandoned me and my mom, to go live in the swamps with a load of demons. And then I saw your blood test - and I knew you were just like them, pretending to be human - passing. But it's all a lie - you're part demon as well.'

'Yeah, I am,' Doyle said, 'and that's a great villain origin story - really, but … I'm still a little confused as to why a marital breakup twenty years ago is the reason I'm handcuffed to a heater.'

Evan laughed. 'Because there are people out there who hate your sort as much as I do. Who will pay good money to get their hands on something like you. I've rung them already - they're coming.'

Doyle felt his stomach lurch. 'The government? Are you selling me to the U.S government? To their Demon Research Initiative?'

'Oh you'll wish it was the government,' Evan told him. 'No - it's not the feds coming for you, and it's not the military.'

'Then who?'

* * *

With their arms loaded with the leather bound books, Wesley led the way over to a bookshelf against the far wall. He selected a book from the shelf and pulled it out - and the shelves slid back, revealing a hidden security door. Then he pressed his hand against the security reader and whispered the password: 'Elysium.'

The door slid open revealing a hidden room, Wesley led his father down inside. There were locked boxes stacked all along one wall of the room. Wesley selected a key and began to unlock one.

'You know,' Roger said, watching him. 'In my day we fought werewolves, vampires and the occasional swampman. And now we have protohuman cybernetic chain fighters.'

'Yes well, we live in more complicated times,' he stashed the books in the locked-box and closed the door.

'Yes- I'm beginning to realise that. You handled that fellow … quite readily. At least you haven't gone soft. What's our next move?'

'Are you asking me what I think?'

Roger chuckled, 'don't look so shocked boy.'

'Well - I think we should contact the others. Find out to what extent …'

Roger reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a gun. Before Wesley even noticed what was happening, he had pistol whipped his son across the back of his head. Wesley fell to the ground, unconscious, and Roger stepped over his body. He took the keys from his son's prone form and then unlocked another of the secure boxes, taking out a small wooden staff. Then he brought up his hand to his earpiece. 'Phase 1 is complete, begin phase 2.'

* * *

'They're going to be really pleased with you,' Evan said to Doyle. 'When I saw your bloodwork I looked into it - to find out what type you are. Looked your people up.' He whistled. 'Yes, sir, they're gonna be real pleased with you, you see…' he squatted down so his eyes were level with Doyle's own. 'They thought they had already eliminated all your type - that the whole of North America was cleared of them, back in '96. There was even a massacre here in L.A.' He leaned forward, 'Mr. Doyle, you're the last of your species - the one that got away - and they are going to be _very_ pleased to put right this oversight.'

Doyle's heart had been hammering away in his chest the whole time, but at Evan's words he suddenly felt his whole body gripped with a cascade of ice, his stomach lurched and his breath stopped. He closed his eyes - and in his memory, he saw a single, pink shoe - a little girl's sneaker - lying abandoned on the floor.

Suddenly everything made sense. The dead bodies - the brutal murders of the weaker demons, those just trying to eke out a miserable existence on the margins of human society. And the words of the departed spirit of the Roishnik - killed by one of a thousand. An army. And the reason he had been getting visions of these murders after they had already happened - when he was already too late to save them.

Because The Powers did blame him for these deaths. He was supposed to have stopped them already - sacrificed his own life, so long ago now, to save thousands of others. He knew exactly who was butchering these demons, whose deaths he'd been investigating - and exactly who was coming for him, right now. 'The Scourge,' he whispered.


	28. Lineage: Part Three

_Part Three_

'Doyle!' Cordelia was shouting his name before she was even through the office. The lights were switched off upstairs, and she headed straight to the staircase, clattering down them. 'Doyle! What's up? You didn't answer your phone - did something go wrong?'

She arrived in the apartment, took her bag off and dumped it on the table. Then she frowned. The apartment was dark as well. 'Doyle? Are you here?' She began to walk her way through the few rooms that made up their home. Her heart was banging against her ribcage and her stomach was flip flopping over all the place. Something _was_ wrong, she knew it. But she forced her voice to remain calm as she called out for her boyfriend. 'Doyle? What gives?'

But he wasn't in the bathroom, the bedroom, or in any dark corner of the living spaces. The whole place was empty. He hadn't been answering his phone all day - and from the looks of things he hadn't been home in hours. The place had that quiet, cold feeling to it - empty rooms left alone for too long without the heat and warmth of the people who lived there. The washing up was still on the draining board - not yet put away, the floor hadn't been hoovered and the bed hadn't been made properly. Doyle hadn't been back. Not since he left this morning. That much was obvious.

She felt all the breath leave her body, as the realisation hit her. Doyle was gone. Something had happened to him - she felt the gorge rise in her throat and had to fight down the urge to vomit. Now was not the time to panic. Though her legs felt weak and watery beneath her and she could feel her blood thrumming through her veins and ringing in her ears, making her tremble.

This was … she'd never had to deal with someone she loved going missing all by herself before. No matter how desperate the situation - and despite the fact her heart had moved on, she would never forget that heart stopping realisation up on the bluffs - there had always been someone to turn to, someone to help her out. There was no one now. Doyle was missing. She couldn't do this - any of this - without him. She needed to find him. And there was no one to help her.

She felt dizzy - and staggered her way over to the sofa, where she collapsed in a heap. 'OK, Cordy, think,' she muttered to herself, massaging her temples. 'He was going to city hall and then you never heard from him… hospitals.' She got to her feet and stumbled her way across to the kitchen, pulling open a drawer and taking out the phonebook. Then she staggered back to the couch, flipped through the book until she got the numbers for all the hospitals in L.A and took out her cell phone.

As she listened to the dial tone, waiting for her first call to connect, she was suddenly reminded of a previous time Doyle had gone missing. Years ago now, when they'd only just first got together - back when Angel was nuts over Darla. Cordy had rung every hospital in desperation then too … only he hadn't been there. He'd been arrested and was being held by the police - and unable to contact her. She made a mental note to add police stations to her call list.

She worked her way through every hospital in the phone book - but no one had been brought in matching Doyle's description. And it didn't make sense anyway, she realised, he'd had more than enough ID on him - plus her details - so that he could collect their marriage license. The doctors would have found all that and contacted her already. She thanked the last receptionist at the last hospital and then dialled the non emergency contact number for the police station. Her heart was beating faster, again, but she couldn't see how he could have been arrested again - he'd moved on from all that, long ago, he wouldn't get into more trouble with the law. And there couldn't be more to his past that he hadn't told her, that could still get him into trouble. She trusted absolutely that, now - after all they'd been through, all the mistakes and lies, memory loss and actual possessions - she knew all the secrets of his past. And that there would never be any more secrets between them.

She spoke to the desk sergeant at the local precinct but - just like at the hospitals - there was no record of a Francis Doyle being brought in. And the cop, hearing the panic in her voice and taking pity on her, checked the system for her - there was no record of Doyle being brought into any of the other nearby stations either. She thanked him and hung up, dropping her phone down on the seat beside herself. She wished that - if nothing else - she still had Dennis, to be a source of silent support. But she really was all alone.

She took a deep breath, blinked back the tears which threatened to fall, and steepled her fingers, forcing herself to think. He had been going to get their marriage license - he had been going to city hall. Maybe he had never made it - but the lack of hospital admissions made that seem unlikely - in which case that was the last place he was _known_ to have been. Whether he had ever left or not - and where he might have gone if he had - remained to be seen. But if she had any hope of tracking him down at all then the best place to start was the last place he had been supposed to go to.

It was late. City hall was probably closed for the night, but she wasn't going to wait until the next morning to go down there and speak to someone. She was going there right now - and she'd break in if she had to. She nodded to herself, feeling better now she had determined a course of action, grabbed her phone - shoved it back in her purse, grabbed the keys to the Plymouth, and headed out through the underground garage.

* * *

Angel and Gunn fought with the cyborgs, in the semi light of the lobby. The other lawyers trapped in there were joining in but they weren't fighters - and the cybernetic men were programmed as well trained, lethal warriors. Despite their lack of numbers, the robots were more than holding their own.

Gunn threw a punch and managed to knock one cyborg out, but he was immediately set upon by a second. This robot thumped the young man hard in the stomach and, when he doubled over, wrapped its chain around Gunn's neck. Gunn's hands flew to the chain around his throat, trying to prise it off - but it was wrapped too tightly and he was choking. Suddenly, the cyborg used the chain to flip Gunn through the air, he crashed down heavily on the staircase.

Angel could see the trouble Gunn was in - and was trying to get to him, but he had too many cyborgs of his own to fend off. He slammed his fist into the robot['s face and kicked out at another, fighting his way towards Gunn the whole time.

* * *

Wesley groaned as he came to and found himself lying on the concrete floor of his vault. What had his father done? Why? He struggled to sit up, fighting off the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him - and then forced himself back to his feet. He needed to get to Angel, needed to find out what was happening, needed to warn his boss that his father was up to something.

He made his way up the stairs and came out through the hidden door back into his office. The cyborg he and his father had fought together, the one his father had said he had handled so readily, was still lying on the floor. But it wasn't dead. The sword was sticking out of it - and crackles of blue electricity were still emanating from where the blade had shortcircuited it - but it wasn't dead.

This was good. It couldn't be a coincidence, Wesley realised, that his father had shown up out of the blue - for what turned out to be nefarious purposes - and on that very same day the building was attacked by these warrior cyborgs hellbent on killing the team. He was very sensitive to coincidence - had been trained to be so - and all his learning, all his instincts - everything his father, and men like him, had ever taught him - was telling him that this was no coincidence.

The rigorous training he had received courtesy of the watchers' academy taught him to analyse all available information, think critically, take into consideration all possible perspectives, missing data - known unknowns and unknown unknowns, find links, and sift through all the evidence until a theory could be formed and the truth found. And then the truth must be faced. Watchers placed a great deal of emphasis on the truth - on recognising reality from a lie - and accepting it, no matter how hard or uncomfortable. Power came from being able to look the hard truths full in the face and accept them unflinchingly, whilst other people - weaker people - looked away, sought comfort in the make believe, the white lie.

The truth, as it stood, was that his father had turned up unexpectedly on the same day as the cyborgs. He was here to betray Wesley in some way - as proven by the swollen lump growing ever bigger on the back of Wesley's head. It was not known if the whole watcher's council was in on this, if this was a full scale war of the watcher's council against the perceived evil of Wolfram and Hart - but everything in its turn. He would find that out in due course.

And, whoever his father was working for, he had prior and extensive knowledge of these cyborgs - Wesley realised. He had managed to deactivate that bomb in a matter of seconds. He had recognised the origin of the symbols, translated, read and then followed their instructions in a matter of seconds. All under the pressure of the beeping and flashing and the anticipation of imminent, explosive death. That was ridiculous. No one could achieve that. Wesley should have seen as much before … but he hadn't enough data then. The lump on the back of his head and the injured cyborg in his office were the data he needed to get a fuller understanding of the picture.

As he stared down at the cyborg, he realised his father had even manipulated him into showing him the vault. Kept questioning - subtle but persistent - until Wesley had revealed its existence and then led him straight to it. He had probably taken something from the secure boxes. Something powerful and dangerous - and rare - as all the artefacts kept locked down there were. But what was taken would be classed as a known unknown. He still needed to fill in the final gaps.

* * *

Roger walked briskly down the hall, ignoring the chaos going on around him. That wasn't his concern, in fact it was of his making. He had a job to do. Unfortunately, he was interrupted in his task by Fred literally running into him, as she made her way towards the lobby and the source of the commotion. 'Mr. Wyndam Pryce!' she gasped, 'what are you…? We need to get you to safety.'

'Now listen to me,' he said to her. He had his cover story ready, it wasn't meant for her but it would work on her just as well. They were all so delightfully trusting - helpful - here. Not what the Wolfram and Hart of old prided itself on at all. 'Wesley's department has monitored some sort of spatial disturbance on the roof. He's gone to investigate. He asked me to tell Angel immediately.'

Fred looked troubled, 'he sent you by yourself?'

Roger bristled and drew himself up to his full height, which was not considerable - but he stood with a great deal of dignity. 'I'm quite capable of taking care of myself … I just happen to be a bit lost.'

'Oh. OK. come on.' She took hold of his arm and led him towards the lobby and towards the vampire. Delightful girl. Really very helpful. Really very sweet. Such a shame …

* * *

'Listen, bud,' Doyle pulled himself as far away from the radiator as the cuffs would allow him to stretch and stared up at the registrar. 'This isn't a good idea. The Scourge - they hate humans just as much as they hate half breeds. They think all humans are fair game. They'll accept your tip offs - but they won't pay y', they'll kill y' - same as me, I swear.'

Evan laughed and shook his head. 'I'm giving them what they want. The last Brachen demon in North America, we've already agreed a price - I cancelled all my other appointments once I'd taken you, I've been negotiating all afternoon.'

It was Doyle's turn to shake his head, 'they don't negotiate,' he told his captor. 'They're fanatics - they don't strike deals. They don't accept compromise.'

'They tried to strike a hard bargain,' Evan argued, as if this were proof that the agreement was bona fide. 'But I haggled with them - I know what you're worth, you see - they agreed to pay it.'

'You really are mad,' Doyle sighed and rested his head back against the radiator. When he looked up this time, his eyes were weary. 'They would have agreed anything. Any price at all. That bargaining - it was all for show. They aren't gonna pay y'! They will come here. They will kill you - and then they will kill me. You're as much vermin to them as I am. Y' don't pay vermin - you exterminate it.'

But Evan wasn't listening. He checked the hands on his watch, 'they should be here soon - they were setting out after sundown. They are gonna be so happy to see you, after all this time. How did you get away back then?'

Doyle remembered the terrified demon in his apartment, asking him to help them hide. He remembered turning him away - the shame of that still stung as much as it had on that night, when he had chain smoked incessantly and failed to sleep. 'They weren't lookin' for me,' he said shortly, not wanting to get into it. 'That's the only thing that saved my life.'

He pulled himself forward again in one last ditch attempt to reason with the man who had taken him prisoner. 'Look, they get here - and that's it for you. No payment. No bargaining. Death. Your only hope, bud, is to get outta here - before they get here. But please - let me go too.'

'You're lying,' Evan said coldly. 'Your sort always lie. You're nothing. You're not human, you're not demon - you don't belong in this world - your whole life is a lie. You think you have a right to marry a human girl? To force your demon children on her without her knowledge? To live in this world and pretend to all the normal people that you're just like them? You're disgusting. You need to be taken out - you're not fit to live. The Scourge understand that - they understand the importance of purity.'

Doyle shook his head, again. 'You're mad,' he said, softly. 'You're mad and you're wrong - and you're gonna find that out the hard way.'

* * *

Wesley crouched down in front of the injured cyborg and ran his eyes over it, wondering what the best approach was. He pulled back the black hood, revealing the chrome face plate beneath - and then inserted his nails around the edges and pulled the metal away. The cyborg had a humanoid face, beneath - but it was skinless and the muscles were visible; red and sticky. It grunted, as it felt its protective mask being prised away from its flesh.

'Good,' Wesley said to it, he kept his voice soft and low, 'you can feel pain.' For that must have been what that grunt was. 'Can you speak?'

The cyborg just stared up at him - keeping its lipless mouth sealed shut. It was going to need … encouragement, if it was going to be made to talk. 'Let me help you with that,' Wesley said to it, he placed his hand around the hilt of the sword - still sticking out of the cyborg's gut - and shoved it deeper into its abdomen.

'Stop. stop.' the cyborg pleaded. Its voice was tinny and metallic. It held a reedy quality which made it sound as if its voice was coming from far away.

Wesley nodded. 'Excellent, we're making progress.' He gripped the hilt once more and then pulled the sword out of the cyborg's gut. The cyborg grunted with the pain again - but said nothing more. 'Let's see if you have a sense of self preservation,' Wesley suggested. He reached up through the stab wound until he found the self destruct device. Then he activated it. 'What is my father doing?' he asked - his voice urgent and commanding now, 'what did he take?' He tilted his head to one side - as the cyborg stayed quiet. 'Tell me - or you'll be destroyed.'

The cyborg grunted in pain again. 'You're bluffing,' the tinny voice said, sounding as if it took a lot of effort to speak. 'The explosion will kill you as well.'

Wesley frowned, looking like he was considering this for a moment. 'Yes, I suppose it will,' he said thoughtfully. 'In fact, I'm guessing it will destroy this entire building, killing everyone, my father included, which would be one way to stop your plan.'

* * *

Up in the lobby, the fight was not going the team's way. The cyborgs had managed to neutralise most of the humans, who now lay injured and bleeding - unable to fight back. Angel was still pinned down by his own cyborg. These things were fierce - programmed to do real damage - they had moves and skill that were taxing even for the dark avenger himself to match. He took a swing at his opponent, but the cyborg ducked it and then kicked him, square in the chest, sending him flying across the room. They were strong too - superhuman in their strength, speed and reflexes. Whoever had put this unit together - they knew what they were doing, and Angel couldn't take them down alone.

Across the lobby, Gunn had lost all control in his own fight. He had been yanked back to his feet by the chain, which was still wrapped around his neck, and was pressed back against the wall. He was turning purple from lack of oxygen, his finger gripped around the metal links, trying to prise them away, but it was no good.

'Gunn!' Spike spotted him through the carnage and ran over to help. He came to a stop just short of the fighting pair and raised a fist, but didn't do anything with it.

'Spike … what are you…?' Gunn choked out.

Spike maintained his right hand balled in a fist, held up ready to strike - but not striking. But he held out his left hand in a stop motion, shushing the choking lawyer. 'Sorry, I have to concentrate.'

Beneath the chain, Gunn choked some more.

'Shh - don't talk,' Spike said to him, his face taking on a look of the deepest, most focused attention. He waited a moment longer - the concentration building, Gunn fighting back the chokes as he waited - his whole life in the balance - and then Spike suddenly lashed out with his fist, striking the cyborg in the face. The robot fell back and let go of the chain, freeing Gunn - who took great gasps of breath in relief. Spike smiled to himself, pleased with his accomplishment. It felt good to hit a bloke after all this time. Even a robot bloke. He grinned at Gunn - Gunn just stared back at him like he was mad.

Meanwhile, Fred led Roger out of the corridor and into the main lobby, just as Angel was knocked to the ground once more by his own cyborg. The dark figure stood above him, ready to strike a killer blow … but the killer blow never came. When Angel finally looked up, wondering what had happened, he saw the cyborg on the ground and Roger standing over him - holding a chair. He had smashed the metal fighter over the head with the chair and the cyborg was now out for the count. The watcher had chosen to rescue Angel. The vampire blinked in surprise - and was even more surprised when Mr. Wyndam Pryce held his hand out and helped him to his feet. 'Thanks.'

'Angel,' Fred said to him, her voice worried and urgent. 'Wesley's on the roof. He needs your help.'

Angel nodded - taking this in. He looked around the lobby, seeing the carnage - but noticing that the immediate danger was passed. The cyborgs in here had been neutralised for now - apparently the danger was elsewhere. 'Gunn,' he said, 'go find out what's happening with security. Then go down to child care - check on Connor, And if there's any of these metal sons of bitches so much as on the same floor as him - kill them. A lot.' Then he turned to Fred. 'There are people down,' he told her, 'go see who's injured. Get medical down here, if it's bad. I'll go find Wes.' He walked away headed for the roof access.

'I'm coming with you,' Roger declared, hurrying along after him.

Angel sighed - and kept on walking. 'Look, I don't have time…'

'He's my son,' Roger pointed out. And Angel knew there was no point arguing with that. He wouldn't take 'no' for an answer if it was Connor. Maybe the old bastard did care for Wes after all. He thought his own father had cared for him, in his own, curmudgeonly - unable to articulate it - way - deep beneath it all. He recognised that now - though he hadn't been able to see it when he was alive. Liam was too drunk, too arrogant and too ignorant to understand the plea in those final words, the heartbreak of missed opportunity. _I was never in your way boy. _But, all these years later, Angel understood it. Those were the words that had led him to naming his own son for his father, a promise to do better than he had managed before. Maybe Roger could prove he was a real father to Wesley before it was too late, after all. Angel couldn't deny him that chance. Couldn't deny Wesley that chance. So he let the old man tag along and didn't say anything more.

Spike stood in the middle of the lobby - watching everyone leave to complete their own assigned tasks, leaving him at a loose end once more. Then he remembered. 'Oh - Lilah's stuck in the elevator,' he told their retreating backs.

'So tell maintenance,' Gunn said to him, without even looking back.

Spike nodded and looked around the lobby, uncertainly. 'Right - well where the bloody hell is maint…' he cut himself off, rolled his eyes to heaven and sighed. 'Oh to be honest I don't even care,' he said, and wandered off, leaving Lilah to fend for herself.

* * *

With a screech of tyres and a squeal of brakes, Cordelia pulled the Plymouth up to the kerbside outside city hall and then leapt over the door. She didn't even take the time to switch the engine off. She dashed across the sidewalk and up to the steps to the imposing front entrance - though she had no time to be impressed or intimidated by the grandeur of local government today. Doyle was missing - and nothing was slowing her down in looking for him.

She put her hand on the large, ornate handle and tugged. It was locked. It was late - the offices had long since shut up for the night. She could just use her slayer strength to pull the entire door from the hinges, or at least break the lock, in her frantic state it was what she felt like doing. Instead she forced herself to take a deep breath and just knock on the door - there must be building security inside. Someone would hear her.

She raised her fist and banged as hard as she could. She hammered so violently that the door rattled in its frame - and she kept on banging, kicking it every now and again for good measure. 'Hello!' she yelled, as she knocked. 'Security? Can you hear me?'

Eventually, the door was opened and a gun was pointed in her face, though it was immediately lowered when the guard saw that it was a young woman as pretty as Cordelia standing on the other side. She ignored the gun completely, stuck her foot inside the door and forced her way over the threshold.

'Now see here, missy,' the security guard said to her sternly, putting his gun back into his holster. He was middle aged and a little overweight. 'I don't know what the meaning of all that hollering was.'

'I needed to get inside.'

'Were closed for the night, missy.'

'Duh! I know that! But I needed to get in here.' She took a deep breath and began to explain. 'My fiance is missing. He came to collect our marriage license hours ago and never came back. The hospitals don't have him, the police don't have him. He's disappeared. And he disappeared here. So I'm here to find him.'

'Look, missy,' he gave her a pitying look. 'Your man can't still be here - we closed hours ago, he would have had to have left the building. And I aint seen him to tell you what time he left - I work nights. If you want to speak to someone who saw him earlier, then come back tomorrow - go up to the fifth floor and speak to the receptionist there…'

'Fifth floor - right,' she turned, as if to make her way up the stairs. The guard grabbed hold of her elbow. 'Did you not hear me? You deaf? Tomorrow, missy,' he said to her, repeating his words. 'There's no one there to talk to right now.'

'I don't intend to do much talking,' she said - pulling her elbow free and walking away towards the staircases, her heels rang out on the hard floor of the lobby, echoing in the big, empty space.

The security guard grabbed her again. 'Nuh huh - little lady, this building is closed now. You have to wait until tomorrow.'

'You can't honestly expect me to wait until tomorrow to find out whether or not my fiance is dead or missing?' She said, incredulously, as he led her back towards the front entrance - steering her by her elbow.

He chuckled. 'You don't have a choice,' he said to her.

She sighed. 'Yeah - I do. Look, I didn't wanna have to do this but…' she hauled back her free arm and slammed her fist into his face. There was a moment where he looked dazed - and then he went cross eyed and keeled over, hitting the floor hard and not getting back up again.

Cordy looked down at the unconscious body lying slumped at her feet. 'Look,' she said to him. 'I'm really sorry - but I gotta find Doyle and _nobody_ is getting in my way.' Then she headed for the stairs and ran up them two at a time, climbing all the way to the fifth floor.

* * *

The access door banged open and Angel came running out onto the roof, looking around. Roger followed him through - travelling at a much more leisurely pace. 'Wesley?' Angel yelled, trying to search out his friend. There was no sign of him, no scent of him, either. 'Wes!' But there was no answer. The roof was empty - apart from the vampire and the old watcher. He turned back to Roger, his face creased with confusion. He did not yet understand. 'Where's Wesley?' he asked.

'Well that's just the thing,' Roger said to him, stepping out onto the roof and keeping firm eye contact with the vampire. His voice was calm, stuffy even, as if they were discussing nothing more troubling than the weather. 'I'm sorry to have misled you, but this was never about Wesley.'

He reached into the inside pocket of his tweed jacket and brought out the small wooden staff he had stolen from his son's vault. He held it up. Angel eyed it nervously - not knowing what it was or what it did.

'Atistrata,' Roger said. The magic word activated the staff and instantly, Angel gasped in pain and fell to the floor, clutching his belly and moaning - as a strange sensation of something being ripped from him, dragged out from underneath his skin right through his flesh, took hold of him. And then he saw a hazy, white smoke begin to rise from himself, some essence being dragged out from deep within him - and this essence floated across the rooftop towards the old man - and the staff, and the tips of the staff began to glow a bright white.

But then there was too much pain for Angel to keep on concentrating, keep on watching, and he collapsed - grunting in agony.

Roger looked down at the stricken vampire, a smile of satisfaction on his face. 'It is, by the way, a pleasure to meet you too,' he said.


	29. Lineage: Part Four

_Part Four_

As the minutes ticked by - and Doyle had nothing to do but wait anxiously for rescue or death - he began to try forcing his hands through the cuffs again, screwing his eyes up against the pain as he tried to squeeze his hand through a far too small space.

'Stop that,' Evan said to him, noticing what he was doing. Doyle glanced round at him - and then, ignoring him, turned back to the handcuffs. He stopped when he heard the sound of a pistol being cocked. 'I said stop that.' He turned round again - and sure enough, Evan was now pointing a gun straight at his head.

Doyle shook his head, 'you're not gonna kill me,' he said to the registrar. 'Whatever I do - you're not gonna pull that trigger.'

'You think I couldn't?'

'You ever killed anyone before, Evan?' Doyle asked him. 'Ever killed anythin' - at all? I have. Lots o' times. The blood, the gore, the brain squish - takes a lot o' gettin' used to.'

'You're not human - you don't count,' the registrar said to him. Doyle only chuckled. 'Is that what you're tellin' yourself, right now, bud? Well lemme tell y' - I've thought that too, before. Thought demon lives didn't matter … until I saw the bodies. Bodies that your friends The Scourge left massacred on the floor of an abandoned warehouse, by the way. I've had … a long, long time to try and come to terms with the fact that those lives _did_ matter - and their blood was on my hands. A long time. And I haven't come to terms with it - I won't ever. And the only thing that's gonna stop you livin' a long life o' regret and guilt and shame, like me, is the fact that The Scourge are gonna kill you too, as soon as they get here. But anyway,' he shrugged, 'that's not why you won't pull the trigger.' He started trying to force his hand back through the cuff - ignoring the increasingly irate man and his gun.

'You really think I won't use this?'

'I think you believe you've driven a hard bargain with The Scourge - that handin' me over to them will get y' a lot of money. So you won't be killin' me before they get here.'

'They'll take you dead or alive,' Evan said, his hand was trembling as he still pointed the gun.

'Sure they will - but they won't _pay_ for me dead or alive. And then you've killed someone - at work - for nothin'. There'll be evidence you held me here, evidence you killed me here. DNA, cotton fibres - all that CSI stuff. I might be a half breed, but I'm human enough to warrant the police turnin' up to ask a few questions - and you know it. You're not killin' me, Evan. So now it's just a waitin' game.'

'Waiting for The Scourge to get here.'

Doyle nodded his head, slowly, as if considering the man's words. 'Maybe, maybe,' he conceded. 'But - y'see - I've been missin' for hours now. Long enough for my girlfriend to have realised somethin's wrong and come lookin' for me. She's gonna find me. The only question is, whether or not she'll get here before The Scourge, and honestly,' he whistled as he weighed up his chances, 'my money's on Cordy.'

Evan began to laugh - a sneering, snide chuckle. 'You think your _girlfriend_ is going to turn up and rescue you?' he asked. 'Burst in here and pull you out from under the nose of The Scourge?'

Doyle just gave Evan a hard stare. 'You don't know my girlfriend,' he replied.

* * *

'Don't fight,' Roger said, to the groaning, struggling vampire at his feet, 'It'll be easier for you.' Then he put his hand to his earpiece and spoke through it once more. 'Ready for extraction. We're finished.'

The wooden staff was suddenly lifted from his hand. 'Not quite.' Roger's head whipped around at the sound of the voice - and saw Wesley standing beside him, the staff now in one hand, pointing a gun with the other. 'Hello father.'

Roger pulled a gun of his own out from his inside pocket and aimed it back at his son. 'Walk away from this, Wesley,' he warned. 'You'll never understand what we're trying to do here.'

'You're using the staff of Devosynn to take Angel's will, make him your slave.' He saw the look of surprise on his father's face. 'Your cyborgs panic a bit too easily,' he explained.

'This creature is more dangerous to mankind than you realise,' Roger said, gesturing down at Angel, who was still trapped on the ground, unable to move as his will had been taken from him.

Wesley shook his head, his gun was still aimed directly at his father - who pointed his own gun straight back at Wesley. They kept their distance, circling around Angel. 'You're wrong about him,' Wesley said. 'He's not what you think.'

He had always known the council's view on Angel, knew what they thought of him working with the vampire - ever since the three hitmen they had sent to kill Faith had tried to kill the both of them for good measure. The council was too black and white, humans vs demons. They kept to the old ways, with their musty libraries filled with dusty books, with their tea and crumpets and observing Queensbury Rules even when fighting for their lives. They had so little idea of how complicated the world was, the demon world in particular. They had no care to know. They served their own power, guarded the mystical and arcane knowledge of the universe - hoarding it for themselves and seeking to destroy anything that threatened that.

Lilah had told Wesley that he had embraced the grey on joining Wolfram and Hart, but he realised that, compared to the days at the council, he had been embracing the grey ever since he joined AI. Accepting that there was nuance to the demon underworld was a compromise the watcher's council could never countenance. They were so hopelessly monochrome - and so hopelessly wrong.

'He's a puppet,' Roger said, gesturing to Angel but keeping his gun steady the whole time. 'Always has been. To The Powers that Be, to Wolfram and Hart. Now he belongs to us.'

'You went to a lot of trouble to get this staff,' Wesley said. The cyborg had explained it all to him. The attack on the arms deal the night before had simply been a way to smuggle a gun inside the law firm. The dead cyborg had the gun inside it and, once it was opened up and the self destruct device detonated, Roger had used the moment, whilst everyone was looking the other way, to stash the pistol in his pocket. Then the later attack gave him the opportunity to enter the vault, grab the staff and make his escape. 'But did you ever once consider that might be another way?' Wesley asked. 'Did you ever once consider talking to me about it?'

There was a long moment of silence, whilst father and son pointed their guns at each other - and then, 'no,' Roger said. 'You've failed me enough for one lifetime.'

* * *

Cordelia made her way down the fifth floor landing - she wasn't creeping - she didn't have time for stealth or subterfuge. She was resting her hand on the handle of each door, breaking the lock and then shoving her way into the offices; glad that she didn't have to stop and take the time to pick each individual lock, now that she had her slayer strength. She didn't give a damn what the government workers would think when they got into work the next morning - or if they called the police. This was too important to worry about being cautious or sneaky.

She broke through the next door and burst her way into the room behind - but this was empty and dark like all the rest. As she was leaving, however, she noticed a strip of light gleaming from under one of the doors further down the hall. The rest of the building was deserted. This one room still had the lights on - so that was where she was headed next.

...

Standing in the doorway to his supply cupboard, gun still trained on Doyle, Evan heard the sound of the doors being kicked in. 'hear that,' he said to his hostage, with a gloating grin. 'That's them - right now, The Scourge are here. It's time. They'll find us any minute. You've cheated death long enough, half breed.'

Doyle stared back at him, 'you better pray for your own sake that that's not The Scourge, bud,' he said heavily.

* * *

The sinking feeling was so intense that, at first, Wesley did not register the sound of the access door banging open once again. If he heard it at all then he mistook it for the pounding of his own heart - the thrumming of his blood in his ears, thundering through his veins at a deafening rate, as he digested his father's words, his disdain, his contempt.

But then he heard her voice. 'Wesley!' It was Fred who had flung open the door, she was out on the roof - with them both, in danger.

'Fred… get out of here!' he commanded. But she didn't listen. She glanced between the two pointed guns and the matching angry expressions on father and son's faces. Then she saw Angel, down on the ground, writhing in pain and unable to get up - helpless. She dropped to her knees and knelt at his side, looking equally confused and concerned. 'What the hell is going on?'

Roger ignored her, instead he maintained complete focus on his son. His face was hard and disapproving and his voice - it was the voice from Wesley's childhood, the voice that yelled at him through the cupboard door and still came to him as he slept, sometimes. 'You know what that vampire is and what he's done, and yet you follow him anyway.'

'Maybe I know what I'm doing,' Wesley yelled back. 'Why can't you trust that?'

'You disgrace yourself with the council, you join forces with him,' he gestured towards the stricken vampire, 'and you have the nerve to ask me why I can't trust you?'

Wesley stiffened his spine - and stared his father dead in the eye. They had put iron in him - the watcher's council - trained him to be hard, unflinching, unyielding. That was perhaps why his father had never shown him any affection - those that swore to protect this sorry world had no place for softness, for weakness - so the council beat it out of them, or locked them in cupboards until they had learned their lessons. And it had worked - out from under the constant critical gaze of his father, Wesley had found that iron deep inside himself. Had used it to send men into a battle they could not win, to steal Angel's child, to take Angel's soul and to stay near Jasmine once he knew what she truly was. Being around his father made him forget, made him fumble and stumble and doubt his own worth. But he had learned, through long years of bitter mistakes and hard choices, exactly what kind of man he was. And if he could stare a diseased God in the face and lie to her - then he could look at his own father, the nightmare of his childhood, and face him down as well.

When he spoke, his voice was calm and cold and clipped. 'I've done everything you've ever asked,' he told him, 'and I've done it well.'

'I asked for this? Hmmm?' Roger once more gestured at Angel, and then around the roof - taking in the building of Wolfram and Hart, 'I wanted to be humiliated.'

'No, I don't suppose I know what you want.' He took a few steps towards his father, keeping his gun trained on him the whole time. 'You had no use for me as a child and you can't bear the thought of me as an adult. Tell me father, what is it that galls you so? That I was never as good at the job as you were … or that I might just be better at it?'

'Oh yes. This is Los Angeles,' Roger sneered, 'we have to talk about our feelings. Maybe we'll hug.'

'It's doubtful.'

* * *

The door handle turned. Chained inside his cupboard, Doyle waited with bated breath to see if salvation or destruction was on the other side. There was a loud crack, the lock broke and the door was shoved open. Cordelia came barrelling inside.

Doyle let out his breath and slumped with relief against the radiator. Evan looked startled. He tried to raise his gun against this newcomer, but before he had time to aim she had crossed the room and grabbed his arm. There was a brief tussle for the gun, he pulled the trigger and shot the ceiling by accident. Plaster rained down on them from above - and he coughed and choked, blinking it out of his eyes. And then he felt a sudden pain in his wrist - excruciating - like it had been broken - and he dropped the gun from his grip. He looked up and his eyes met the furious, brown eyes of Cordelia. He only just had time to register that this young woman had broken down a door and broken his own wrist with her bare hands, before she brought her knee up sharply between his legs. He fell to the floor, crying out in agony and she kicked him in the face. Everything went black.

'Doyle!' she stepped over the unconscious body and hurried into the supply cupboard, seeing her boyfriend chained up there. 'What on earth…'

'Explain later - just get the keys, Cordy.' He held up his chained wrist, indicating that she needed to unlock his handcuffs before he could make his escape. 'They should be in his pocket.'

She crossed back to the downed registrar and began to root through his pockets, searching for the keys. Doyle pulled himself as far away from the radiator, trying to see her - waiting anxiously. 'Hurry darlin' - we gotta hurry.'

'Did you see me kick him in the goolies?' she snickered, as she hunted. She hadn't picked up on her boyfriend's anxiety. 'That'll show him - taking you prisoner - he won't walk for a month.'

'I never doubted for a minute you'd get to me first, princess,' Doyle told her, 'but that's 'first' as in there's a second on the way. We gotta get outta here before they get here. Fast.'

She looked up, suddenly realising that he was practically squirming in his desperation to get away. 'What's wrong?' she asked him. But he only shook his head. 'Later,' he told her. 'Escape now.' She nodded and continued patting down the still and lifeless body of Evan, finally locating his keys in his trouser pockets. She dug them out and hurried back across to Doyle, crouching down in front of him and selecting the smallest, silver key and fitting it into the lock.

The cuffs fell open and Doyle snatched his hand away, rubbing his wrist for a moment - there was a red mark around his arm where the metal had bitten into it all afternoon. Then he sprung back to his feet - ignoring his now overwhelming need to pee - and grabbed Cordy's hand. 'C'mon,' he said, tugging her back through the office.

They stepped over the unconscious registrar - and Doyle's eye fell on their file still on Evan's desk. He dropped Cordelia's hand and went to grab it. He'd gone through all this for his marriage license - he wasn't leaving here without it, and he wasn't leaving a paper trail for The Scourge to follow either. Then he took hold of Cordelia once more and pulled her from the office.

All the way along the corridor and down the stairs, Doyle felt his heart hammering in his chest - which was strange as it had also seemed to have lurched into his mouth. His blood was pounding in his ears and his legs were shaking beneath him, trembling so hard that he could barely force them to move one foot in front of the other. But force them he did, his every sense, his every sinew straining for any sign of the encroaching Scourge.

Finally, he stumbled down the last step, his breathing now hard and ragged with panic, and they arrived back in the lobby of city hall. They ran across the foyer - past the still knocked out security guard. Their footsteps echoed against the hard floor and reverberated round the vast space of the grand government building - reminding Doyle of the thunderous footsteps headed their way, even now, and making his heart beat even faster in his chest.

A moment later, they were through the unlocked door and out into the night air. The car was still idling by the sidewalk. Cordelia ran around to the driver's side and Doyle flung himself into the passenger seat. And that was when he heard them: the rumbling, thunderous pounding of jackboots running in step. For a moment, it was as if everything went still and silent - his senses shut down, leaving him blind and deaf in his fear of this worst nightmare come back to haunt him. And then it all came crashing back down on him - the sights, the sounds and the desperate need to escape. His heart was beating so fast now that it felt like it must surely explode inside of him, his whole body was trembling - every nerve end jangling and screaming and he could barely get the words out. 'Cordelia. Drive.'

* * *

Overhead, the sound of helicopter blades began to whirr through the air - creating a breeze that ruffled their hair and shirts. The two men still stared each other down, guns pointed. 'Hand me that staff,' Roger said. This was his escape, his extraction, he and the vampire needed to be leaving on that helicopter - but not without the staff.

'No.'

'Now don't make me shoot you!'

Wesley backed away, so he was standing at the very edge of the building's roof - and then held his hand out, dangling the rod over the side. 'Go ahead,' he offered. '

'Do you know how powerful that thing is?'

'I don't care.'

'I will kill you for it,' Roger said to him, 'please believe me.' But Wesley only shrugged and kept his hand held out over the edge of the building. It was a long way down to the floor. 'Oh I believe you,' he told his father, 'I was raised by you after all.'

The helicopter was directly overhead now, drowning out their words - meaning they had to shout. A bright searchlight was shining down on them, illuminating the scene. Wesley stared into the lined face of his father, saw the determination in his cold eyes. But his own eyes were no less determined. Like father, like son. 'If I drop this,' he raised the staff slightly to indicate it, 'then the crystal shatters, Angel is restored. So I reckon, whether I live or die, your plan has failed.'

Roger stared at Wesley. This was - unexpected. That the snivelling, younger Wyndam Pryce had turned into a man of such conviction. Willing to die for a friend - a vampire - because he believed it was right. That he would dare stand up to his father, and be able to outsmart him. This … this was not in the plan. He would have to improvise. 'I see. Well then…' he lurched downward and grabbed hold of Fred, who was still kneeling beside Angel, he pulled her to her feet and pointed the gun at her head, 'perhaps if it is someone you care about -'

BAM. Wesley pulled the trigger and the bullet hit his father straight in the chest. BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM he kept on firing, walking towards his father, pulling the trigger until the clip was empty, his eyes unblinking. He shot his father nine times. Roger fell to the ground. The helicopter turned and flew away, leaving the roof in sudden darkness.

Fred stared at Wesley, her mouth open in shock. Wesley was looking down at his father, his head tilted to one side. His expression was appalled, unbelieving - Roger was not moving. Wesley had killed him. He turned away from the sight, dropping the staff - it slipped from his hand without him even noticing, and the crystal shattered as it hit the floor. He staggered away to the edge of the building and threw up.

There was a buzzing sound behind him - and he straightened up to turn around and look. Blue crackles of electricity were emanating from Roger's body. Wesley and Fred stared - not understanding - and then Roger's form melted away, as the glamour broke down, leaving behind only the body of another of the cyborgs.

* * *

They arrived back at the apartment, entering via the underground door. Cordelia went to get her first aid kit and Doyle sat at the dining room table. He placed their file on the table and looked through it. Their marriage license was inside, he closed his eyes - at least it hadn't all been for nothing, at least he didn't have to go back.

Cordy came back with her kit and began to fuss over his injuries, the bump on the back of his head and the markings round his wrist. He sat there quietly and let her get on with fixing him up, his heart feeling heavy the whole time.

When she was done and tidied away she came to sit beside him. 'So what happened today?' she asked, 'was that guy crazy or…?'

Doyle took a deep breath. 'I know who's been killin' all those demons, Cordy,' he said to her, 'who's responsible for all the deaths we've been investigating.'

Cordy frowned, 'that civil servant guy?' she asked, sounding surprised. But Doyle shook his head. 'No - he was just … I don't know how he knew about 'em, but he called 'em up to come and get me - to kill me like they killed the others.'

'Called who?'

He turned his head away from her, staring down at the table - at their paperwork inside the folder and his hand resting beside it. 'The Scourge.' His voice was barely above a whisper - but she heard. He felt her stiffen beside him. 'They're the ones been killin' all these innocent people - and they were comin' to city hall tonight. For me. He told 'em about me. They thought - they thought they killed all the Brachen demons the last time around. I'm the last one left - and they were coming to finish the job.'

'But … what …' she shook her head, not knowing what to say, not being able to think of the words she wanted. He looked up at her again and saw that her eyes showed the same fright he felt. 'Do they know where to find you?' she asked at last, and her voice was as scared as her eyes, 'do they know where we are?'

Doyle shook his head. 'I dunno,' he admitted. 'I dunno what exactly that guy told 'em. I don't think he'd ever kidnapped anyone before, was in way over his head - didn't know what he was doin'. I don't know how much information he gave them over the phone but I doubt he thought to memorise our details.' He picked the folder up and showed it to Cordy, 'I brought his file on us with us. Our marriage license is inside. We can get married.' He stopped as she leaned forward and gave him a sudden kiss - it was hard and fierce, and betrayed her fright even more than her trembling voice had done.

'So … you don't think he'll be able to tell them anything - when they get there?'

'They arrived just as we left, I heard their boots.' He suppressed a shudder, remembering that terrifying pounding. 'They - they could be on their way already. I hope he didn't know anythin' - our address - but…' He sighed. 'And there's a chance that when they got there, found I'd escaped, they'd kill him without talking to him first. I tried to warn him they'd kill him - told him he had to get out of there. He didn't believe me.' He stared round the apartment - their first proper home together. The place they were supposed to be building a life together. It was no longer safe. 'But, whether they know where I am or not - they know I exist now. They'll try to track me.' He took a deep breath. 'I think maybe it might be a good idea if we get outta here for a couple of days. Lie low.'

Cordelia nodded, not arguing, not claiming they should stay and fight. Just silently accepting his wisdom on the matter. She must be frightened, he realised, to not be arguing. He smiled wryly.

'I'll go pack us a bag,' Cordy said quietly, getting to her feet. 'You just stay here and - recuperate. We can be ready to go in … ten minutes.'

He nodded, and sank lower in his chair as she walked away to start readying for their flight to safety. 'Thanks, princess,' he murmured, closing his eyes and giving into weariness.

* * *

Angel sat slumped on the couch in his office, his arm was wrapped across his belly - clutching it. Wesley walked in, 'how are you doing?' he asked.

'Well,' he struggled to right himself on the sofa and then gave in, slumping back down, 'you know what the worst part of losing your free will is?'

'Having no control over your body?' Wesley hazarded a guess.

'Well - there's that and … you get really nauseous.' He groaned as another wave of sickness flooded through him. Wesley sat down beside him, 'that side effect should wear off soon enough.'

'Any idea where those things came from?' Angel asked, 'any idea what they wanted with me?' But Wesley only shook his head - and Angel sighed. 'Great. Like we don't have enough to worry about. Now the good guys may be after us too.'

'We have to assume we crossed some powerful forces when we took over this company.'

'They're all trying to bring us down,' Angel nodded slowly. 'Perception is we're weak.'

Wesley shook his head, 'no,' he said - a little bitterly. 'Perception is _I'm_ weak. That's why they went for me.'

'They're wrong,' Angel didn't miss a beat. It was his turn to shake his head, though the sudden rush of nausea made him wish he hadn't. 'You do what you have to to protect the people around you. To do what you know is right regardless of the cost. Maybe you think I don't realise that - for a long time I didn't get it, didn't understand. But I look at everything we've been through together- since the beginning, the price you've paid to keep us all safe. The things you've been willing to do, the measures you've taken - the places you've been. You're the strong one among us, Wes. The one that steps up and does the unthinkable when the others can't. You're the guy that makes all the hard decisions - even if he has to make 'em alone.'

'Right now I feel like the guy who shot his own father.'

'Ah - it was just a robot with a fancy glamour,' Angel waved a dismissive hand.

'That thing knew everything about me.'

But the vampire didn't think that was so very surprising. If the cyborgs had had access to the watcher's council's old files, then they'd have all his background information; his character assessments, his psychological profiles - everything they'd need to pull off a bluff this big. 'Like I said, don't beat yourself up.' His expression became thoughtful, 'you know… I killed my actual dad. It was one of the first things I did as a vampire.'

Wesley turned his head and gave his boss a hard stare. 'I hardly see how that's the same situation.'

'You're right,' Angel conceded, a little abashed, 'I didn't really think that one through. You should get some rest.'

'So should you,' he got to his feet and left the office.

...

Out in the lobby he bumped into Spike, lurking. 'Heard what happened up top,' the vampire said to him, his voice and expression were surprisingly serious; gentle and concerned. 'Offing your dad and all. I don't know if you know this but - uh - I killed my mum.' He considered the turn of events so many years before and sought to clarify. 'Actually, I'd already killed her, but then she tried to _shag_ me, so I had to…' he mimed staking a vampire.

'Thank you,' Wesley held his hand out, stopping Spike from continuing talking, his expression was horrified. 'I'm very comforted.'

Spike nodded to himself, at a job well done, and left Wesley to make his way back to his office.

...

Once inside, he crossed to his desk and switched on the lamp. Fred appeared in the doorway, he noticed her standing there. 'If you're here to tell me about how you killed your parents … perhaps it could wait for another time?'

She looked confused, 'What? No. They're fine.' She shook her head and walked into the room, reaching Wesley's side and peering up into his face, her eyes large and soft. 'It's not like you killed your dad either.'

'Right,' he didn't sound like he believed her.

'Part of you knew,' she insisted. 'Even if you can't admit that to yourself, part of you knew it wasn't him.'

'No. _I was sure it was him_.' Everything had been right: the suit, the cologne, the mannerisms, the tone of voice - god that tone of voice. Belittling and bewildering - making him feel like he was still a clumsy schoolboy in short trousers. That had been his father standing in front of him - all day - down to the way he stirred his tea. And Wesley had shot him. Nine times. 'You were there. I killed my father.'

'He was threatening your friends,' Fred said, still trying to give comfort - to let him know he could forgive himself.

'He was threatening _you_.' Wesley corrected, and his voice trembled as he said it. Because he had never had any inclination to shoot his father when it was Angel's life on the line. Die for him, yes - if that's what it took. But patricide? It hadn't crossed his mind. Until his father pointed a gun at Fred - and then he didn't even stop to think about it. Didn't even hesitate for a moment. It frightened him that he could feel so deeply - that he could be driven to … _that_, without having to think. All emotion. All rationality gone - lost. 'He pointed a gun at you, Fred … so I shot him.'

'Wesley … I…' she stared up into his face, searching his expression - seeing the pain and desperation in his eyes, the lines etched into his face by guilt and grief - and the raw vulnerability as he confessed that he would kill for her and her alone. She didn't know what to say - couldn't find the words to express …

'Hey,' Knox appeared in the doorway, killing the moment. She turned to look at him - not sure if she was relieved or annoyed. But something must have shown on her face, something of what was transpiring must have seeped into Knox's awareness - because he immediately apologised for interrupting. 'But … Fred - you're injured,' he smiled his rumpled smile. 'I know we're supposed to work ourselves to death and all, but I'm guessing the company isn't enforcing that policy as strictly as they used to. And I thought I was gonna take you home.'

'Oh…' she glanced between the two men, not sure what to say. She didn't want to leave Wesley like this - but she didn't know what she could do for him either. 'Well … I … Wesley and I were just…'

'Go,' Wesley said softly, 'you should go.'

She gave him one last, concerned look and then left the office with Knox. Wesley followed them with his eyes and then, once they were out of sight, sat down behind the desk and picked up the phone. He dialled the long number for an international call. 'Hello, mum, it's me,' he said when he heard his mother's voice answer, all the way over in England. 'No, everything's fine… I was hoping to speak to father, actually. Yes all right…' there was a pause as his mother handed the phone over to the real Roger Wyndam Pryce. 'Hello father how are you?' he asked, he listened to the reply - from the voice he had spent all day with. That exact same voice. The voice that had threatened to shoot Fred. So Wesley had shot him. 'Oh I didn't realise it was so early there,' he answered his father's complaint, checking his own watch, 'I've had a bit of a…' but his father did not want to hear about his day. 'Yes of course we have clocks in Los Angeles,' Wesley sighed. 'Listen I wanted to… nothing's wrong. I just wanted to call - and see how you were.'

* * *

They had checked into the same motel that Doyle had lived out of the previous year. Now they lay in the dark, on the hard, lumpy bed. Cordelia's body was curled around Doyle's and her arm was flung across his chest, her nose nuzzled into the nape of his neck. He traced his fingertips up and down her arm, tickling her skin softly. Neither of them slept.

'Are you afraid?' Cordelia asked after a long time.

'Yep. You?'

She nodded her head, and he felt her hair tickle against the back of his neck. 'The Scourge,' he said to her, 'they're … it's a lot for us to face up to, by ourselves.'

'It's not them I'm afraid of,' Cordelia said softly. Doyle frowned into the darkness. 'Then what?'

'You,' she said, squeezing him more tightly, 'losing you. That's what frightens me.'

He rolled over and turned to face her - so the tips of their noses were touching. 'What do you mean?' he asked, reaching up and stroking her hair, 'I'm not goin' anywhere.'

But she shook her head, on the pillow, and bit her lip to stop it trembling. 'You're _The Promised One,_' she told him. 'I might be a slayer, but this - this is your destiny. All yours. And it's bigger than anything we've faced. You were supposed to die - facing this - and you didn't. And now it's back… and I'm terrified of losing you. I'm frightened of what your role in all this is going to turn out to be. And I don't know that I'm strong enough to protect you from your own destiny, from what the universe has decided is your purpose on this earth. What if…' her lip trembled again and she sought to control it, 'what if all we've had these last years is stolen time? And now it's time to pay it back? I can't bear that…' her bottom lip twitched again.

He kissed her, softly, pressing his lips to hers to stop them from trembling. 'You're Cordelia Chase,' he said to her, forcing a smile for her, 'you can do _anythin'_ you set your mind to - and I wouldn't wanna be the universe gettin' in the way of what you want. No power in the 'verse can stop you. You know that.'

'I can't rewrite destiny,' she said sadly. He shook his head. 'No - but someone did - once - for me. For us. We've beaten the odds every step of the way. What's one more battle? Huh? What's one more war?'

She sniffed, and brought her hand up to wipe away the stray tear tracking its solitary way down her cheek. 'So what do we do?' she asked. 'We can't hide here forever. We could skip town - but if this is your destiny they'll only track you down again. The Powers want you to fight. It's why they've been sending you visions.'

'I know it,' he nodded. 'I think we should get out of town. But not forever. If we're gonna fight The Scourge,' he closed his eyes and felt the wave of terror wash over him. He fought it down before he continued. 'Then we need to fight smart. We need to find out everything we can about them, their weapons, their goals, my destiny in all this … not just rumours and whispered stories passed on. We need to find experts, read prophecies and then - when we come back - we'll be ready for 'em.'

'You're still frightened,' she said.

He forced another smile, 'only in a too terrified to stand unaided sort o' way. I'll be fine.' He gave her another kiss. 'You should go to sleep,' he told her.

'So should you.'

'I'll try if you will.' He rolled back over, and felt Cordy curl round him once more, her arm holding him tightly. They lay there for a long while. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply - forcing his breaths to become even and regular - hoping to lull himself to sleep that way. 'Cordelia?' he murmured, after a few minutes failure, 'do you think what that guy said was true? Do you really think I'm the last o' my species?'

* * *

Wesley put the phone down and poured himself a whisky. He tossed it back and then stared into space - that thousand yard stare he wore whenever his troubles were too much, the weight of them too crushing to bear. 'You're still here?' he glanced up. Lilah was stood in the doorway, smiling at him - a soft, concerned smile - not her usual shark's grin. 'You should go home, get some sleep,' she said.

'I don't believe I could sleep.'

'Well - you should still go home, get out of here - out of this place. For a few days at least.'

He looked up at her, there was a slight question in his eyes, though his expression was still haunted. She returned his gaze, her own comforting and soft. 'I think you more than qualify for a sabbatical,' she said to him. 'You need … headspace. After what you've been through. If you don't take time to deal with this … well, it won't go away by itself, is all I'm saying - and it isn't healthy to hide from it.'

'And you really want me to believe that you care for my well being?'

'I really do. Care - I mean. I'll clear it with Angel. I'll clear it with The Senior Partners. Go. Deal with this, come to terms with everything it means and then come back, when you're ready.'

'You're right, I suppose,' he stood up and got his jacket. 'You'll let Angel know?'

She nodded, and he walked to the door, slow and stiff, his shoulders bent - as if carrying the physical weight of what he had done. 'Wesley-' he stopped and looked back at her. 'Would you have shot him … if he had been pointing that gun at me?' He stared at her for a moment - and then turned and walked away, without answering.

She watched him leave. Her eyes were hurt and her smile the same. Once the elevator door had closed behind him, she took out her cell phone and rang her contact. 'OK,' she said, once they'd picked up. 'I got him out of the building. He's going to take a few days sabbatical. If you want to implement the next phase of your plan, now's the time to do it.'

* * *

**A/N Next episode is 'Destiny'. **


	30. Destiny: Part One

**Destiny**

_Part One_

_The room lay in darkness, the heavy drapes drawn across the windows, blocking out the rising sun. There was a stillness to the atmosphere - a watchful, waiting - as if the place were holding its breath, expecting something momentous to happen at any minute. Then, the sound of giggling cut through the air, coming from the other side of the doors - a man and a woman were arriving - in high spirits. _

_The doors pushed open and Drusilla and her new pet, William, fell through the doors - still giggling, kissing and fumbling. William pushed his sire; this new, delightful, intoxicating, effulgent woman; against the wall and began to nibble on her ear. She moaned. 'Oh such a hungry kitty,' she playfully pushed him away from herself. 'Meow.' She pulled him further into the room. 'You've been a starved one, haven't you?'_

'_I've got you to feast on now,' he told her. He looked around the room - taking in its opulence, its high ceilings, grand furnishings and fine chandelier. 'Is this your home?' _

'_Their home,' she nodded her head over to a pair of corpses slumped on the velvet couch - they were portly and middle aged and had been drained completely of their blood. 'Ambassador to … something and his plump, lovely wife. Until their spirits flew away on fairy wings.' She lowered her voice and whispered in William's ear, 'psst when Angelus took them for dinner.' _

'_Angelus? Who the bloody hell is ...' He turned - and saw a dark figure lurking in the shadows. A man. Taller than William - by quite a bit, and broader too. He had long brown hair and a prominent brow, which hung over dark, piercing eyes. William had never seen eyes like those before - the hunger, the danger - the quiet, stealthy sense of menace. _

_Drusilla's beautiful face broke into a wide smile when she saw the other man standing there. 'Look what I've made,' she said to him, proudly. 'It's called Willy.'_

'_William,' William corrected her at once, his voice was sharp. He hadn't minded when this black goddess had called him by a diminutive - but in front of this lurking, brooding man, with his air of watchful danger, he did not want to be made to sound small. Ludicrous. _

_The man - Angelus - took a step out of the shadows, closer to the happy couple. He looked William up and down, slowly - a slight, teasing smile playing on his face. Though there was no friendliness in that smile - it was a wolf's grin. William pulled himself straight, standing as tall as he could - trying to stare down this Angelus. But that only seemed to amuse the other man. 'So instead of just feeding off this William … you went and turned him into one of us. Another rooster in the henhouse.' His voice was slow - and had a lilt to it. _

'_You're not cross with me are you?' Drusilla asked. _

'_Cross?' Angelus grabbed hold of William and pulled him towards the window. The early morning light shone through the barest crack in the curtains - and Angelus held William's hand up - letting the direct rays of sunlight fall upon it. Immediately, William felt his hand began to burn. He snatched it away from the light, letting it fall safely back into the darkness - and stared angrily into the eyes of this other man. 'Touch me again -' he started to say. His voice was trembling with anger - and a little fear - but he would give into neither. He was a creature of the night, now, he would no longer be pushed around - as William the bloody awful poet had been by his cruel peers. William had already killed some of those who had mocked him in life - and would kill more of them yet. But damned if he was going to trade his human tormentors for an immortal one. He stood his ground. _

_But Angelus only laughed. 'Do you know what it's like?' he asked in his slow, lilting voice, 'to only have women as travelling companions.' He leaned forward, leering into William's face. 'Now don't get me wrong - I love the ladies. It's just lately … I've been wondering.' He raised his own fist and held it up into the sunlight. 'What it would be like…' both men watched his fist as it began to sizzle. 'To share the slaughter of innocents with another man.' He turned his hand over, opening up his fist so his palm lay exposed in the sunlight - and watched it smoke. 'Don't think that makes me some kind of deviant,' he pulled his hand back down into the shade and grinned his wolf's grin at William, 'do you?'_

_William stared him down - accepting the challenge. He was a new person - a whole new being - and this new form he took would not be pushed around by bigger men. People would learn his name and tremble. Learn respect. Learn fear - and he would start right here, right now. He stuck his own fist back out into the sunlight and then - just as Angelus had done - slowly opened it up, exposing his palm. He held it out until it began to smoke, ignoring the pain - forcing himself to hold it there just a moment longer than Angelus had managed. _

_Angelus began to laugh and slapped William on the shoulder. 'Ah - I like this one,' he told Drusilla. He pulled William closer to him, so their brows were almost touching. 'You and me - we are going to be the best of friends.' He laughed again - and this time William joined in._

_..._

'Get the hell away from me Spike!' Angel snapped as he came down the stairs into the Wolfram and Hart lobby. Spike was trailing behind him, refusing to go away. 'Would that I could, you big ape,' he walked through a column and continued dogging Angel's heels. 'Til then, why don't you make us both happy and give me what I want?'

They came to a stop in front of the front desk. 'You're not getting an office,' Angel said to him, as Harmony handed her boss some mail. He ripped open the envelope and looked at it. Captain Peroxide was still arguing. 'You selfish sod! The rest of your lot get to go home to their nice and cosies. Me? I gotta nest in somebody else's roost. It's not bleeding right.'

'You don't work here, Spike,' Angel told him, through gritted teeth. You haunt this place and annoy me. That's all!' he turned away from the ghost and headed to his office.

'At least give me Wesley's office!' Spike called after him, 'I mean since he's gone.'

'He's not gone - he's just on a leave of absence,' Angel replied over his shoulder, without even looking back.

'Oh boo hoo, he thought he killed his father,' Spike yelled as the office door slammed in his face. 'Try having to stake your mother whilst she's coming on to you!'

Harmony looked up from her computer, 'that explains so much,' she muttered.

...

Inside his office, Angel found Lilah waiting for him. He took a sip of his blood and glared at her, 'and what are you doing here?'

She raised a sardonic eyebrow, 'just - checking in,' she shrugged, elegantly. 'Wondering how things were going now Wesley has - ah - what did you just call it? Taken a leave of absence?'

'He'll only be gone for a couple of days,' it was Angel's turn to shrug. 'He'll be back before we know it - we just need to hold down the fort, hope nothing too bad happens, until he gets back.'

'Right,' she grinned, wickedly, 'nothing too bad happens. _Here_. Um - aren't you worried what Wesley might be getting up to?'

He stared at her blankly. 'What do you mean?'

'You gave him Connor,' she said bluntly.

'He's taken Connor away for a few days, to go to the beach, the park, play in the sunshine - all the things I can't do with him. Connor's lucky to have Wesley to do that stuff with him.'

'A second father,' she smiled, slyly. A slight tremor passed across Angel's face, but he tried to suppress it. 'If that's how you want to put it,' he said, evenly.

'Not me,' she shrugged again, 'but Wesley? … aren't you worried he might steal Connor again?'

'Nope.'

'Just like that?'

'Yeah, Lilah - just like that. And if he does ever take Connor away again, I know it's for a damn good reason - to keep me and my son safe. I trust Wesley - with my life, with my son. So what is this about?'

She laughed. 'Just making conversation,' she told him, 'finding out where your head space is.'

'So you can report back to the Senior Partners?'

'Well - it is my job.'

'Well you can tell them that I'm fine. And Wesley's fine. And Connor's fine. And they'll be back before you know it. And nothing is going to happen between now and then.'

...

Spike shook his head at the closed door and started to walk away. 'Spike!' Harmony called after him. He turned back to her, thinking she wanted to talk about his whole Oedipus revelation. 'Look - it was a long time ago - she wasn't herself.'

'You got mail,' Harmony told him - uninterested in his mother. She placed a package on the desk. He looked surprised. 'Who'd be sending post to a …'

'Ghost?' she finished for him - and shrugged. 'Don't know. It's addressed to you care of here. It's kind of heavy.' He held up his hands and wiggled his fingers, indicating his inability to open it. 'Oh,' she realised, 'do you want me to -?' He nodded, and she took out a letter opener and sliced the package open.

Spike leaned over expectantly, as she lifted the cardboard flaps. There was a sudden flash of light - and then … nothing. The box was empty. Behind the front desk, the phone began to ring. Harmony and Spike peered into the empty parcel. 'Well, that was a slap and a tickle,' Spike said. Another phone began to ring. Harmony picked it up - and then dropped it as a screeching noise sounded in her ear from the other end of the line.

Spike wandered away, 'any more fireworks for me,' he said over his shoulder, headed for Angel's door, 'I'll be in here telling your boss what a miserable bastard he -' BAM. Instead of walking through the door, he banged right into it and fell on the ground. He stared up at it, blinking, his nose stinging. 'Bugger, that hurt!'

The door opened and Angel came out, mug of blood in hand, and stared down at the vampire on the floor. Spike stared back up at him - realisation starting to form. 'Hold on…'

* * *

Wesley walked down the pier, pushing Connor in his stroller. There was a balloon tied to its frame and the little boy had an ice cream, and was smearing it all over himself, leaving his face and fingers sticky. They reached an empty bench, which had a view of the beach and the ocean beyond, and Wesley sat down and pulled Connor's stroller round so he was facing the little boy. He took a cloth out of his bag and began to clean up the sticky mess the toddler had made. 'Did you like that?' he asked. Connor nodded. 'More!' the boy asked. 'Wesy - more iceceam.'

But Wesley shook his head, smiling. 'Not yet - you'll spoil your lunch. What would you like to do next? We could build sandcastles, or go paddling in the ocean, or walk along to the fairground - go on the carousel.'

'Pad'lin,' the little boy told him. Wesley nodded and helped him off with his shoes and then took off his own and rolled his trousers up. 'Careful,' he said, as he led the little boy onto the beach, 'the sand is hot.'

'Ow ow ow,' Connor danced from tiny foot to tiny foot - almost losing his balance as he felt the sand burn his feet. Wesley swooped down and picked the little boy up - he swung him high in the air - and Connor laughed with delight - and then he ran down the beach towards the ocean, Connor tucked under his arm - so he didn't burn his feet. The little boy laughed the whole way - and the sound of his laughter soothed Wesley's aching heart.

He put him down once they reached the cooler, wet sand - and together they squelched their way towards the breaking waves - leaving two sets of footprints behind them. They stood in the shallow water, hand in hand, and jumped over the waves as they rolled in, getting thoroughly splashed in the process. Connor laughed and laughed the whole time.

Wesley smiled down at him. His own father had never done anything like this for him. Had never had the time or inclination or patience to play with his son. And Angel's had never done anything like this, either. Angel, himself, couldn't. He would miss out on so many golden moments in Connor's childhood, because he could not go out in the sunlight. But that did not mean Connor had to miss out as well, the way Wesley had, the way Angel had.

They could be better than their father's. Learn from their mistakes - give Connor a better start in life than the ones they had been given. Both men had been so irrevocably shaped by their fathers, by their expectations - their disappointment. Everything they had become, the dark paths they had both followed, stemmed directly from their treatment at the hands of the men who were supposed to shape and guide them. But history was not destiny. Connor would not have to follow a dark path - because Angel - and Wesley - would ensure that that darkness never entered his soul.

Working to protect this little boy gave Wesley a purpose. And seeing him happy gave him some peace. They clutched hands even tighter - and jumped the next wave that crashed to shore.

* * *

The stream of people disembarked the plane at Manta, shuffling their way towards passport control. Doyle and Cordelia shuffled along amongst them. They had been travelling for over 14 hours - the flight had included two layovers. They were sticky and tired and irritable - but this was really only the beginning of their journey.

Cordelia was travelling incognito - wearing a floppy sun hat, a sundress and a big pair of shades - trying to look like a regular tourist. Doyle had travelled as … Doyle. He had on a red bowling shirt and his brown, leather jacket - though that was now slung over his shoulder. He could feel the heat from the outside radiating in, even inside the little tunnel which connected the plane to the gate. It was hotter here than it was in L.A - and, to an Irishman, L.A always felt pretty damn hot, no matter how long he lived there. But here they were on the equator - and Doyle felt like he was melting. The heat was only making them more fractious as they stumbled along in the line of people.

They stood in line, waiting their turn to pass through immigration. When it was their turn, they went through together - Cordy handing over her dark, blue passport and Doyle handing over his burgundy one - with the writing in English and Irish. He held his breath whilst the official looked over them - waiting to see if any comment would be made about how far he had travelled, or how come two people from different countries were travelling together. But the guy on the desk seemed supremely uninterested in where they'd come from or why they were here. He just glanced at their photos - checked them against their faces - stamped their passports and then waved them through.

Doyle let out his breath, relieved. The immigration process was far friendlier here than it was getting into America, far more relaxed.

They had nothing to declare and no luggage to pick up - the few changes of clothes they had brought being stuffed in their hand luggage - and so they headed straight on through to the arrivals gate and then out of the terminal.

The scorched air hit them as soon as they stepped outside, like the blast of a furnace. Doyle felt the sweat begin to pour down his back. He wiped his face with his hand, trying to stop the perspiration dripping into his eyes. 'Jesus, we need to find some shade,' he said.

Cordelia frowned. 'We need to get moving.' She was still too irritable from her long flight to be amused by how badly her Northern European boyfriend did in the heat - though normally it would delight her.

There was a zebra crossing outside the terminal doors - and a taxi rank just across the road. She led the way and climbed into the back of the first taxi in the line. Doyle scrambled in after her.

'̣¿á donde?' The taxi driver asked them, leaning back to look at them. _Where to? _Cordy and Doyle glanced at each other. Their Spanish was … not great. Doyle had never learned any - what with Ireland not sharing a thousand mile border with a Spanish speaking country and all, and Cordy, despite her good grade point average and finishing in the top 90% of her class, had been put in remedial Spanish in middle school and opted for French once she was at Sunnydale High.

'Um …' she stuttered. 'Quiero ir a … the docks?' she said. _I want to go to._ She had forgotten how to say 'we'. 'El puerto?' she tried hopefully. The cab driver seemed to understand - because he nodded, turned the key in the ignition and drove them away.

'Well - that didn't go so badly,' Doyle said.

* * *

Spike lay on the floor, still feeling the stinging in his nose from the impact. Behind him the phones were ringing off the hook. Slowly, he got back to his feet - feeling Angel's staring eyes on him the whole time. 'Hey I'm…' he touched his chest. His hand made contact. 'I can feel.' He reached out and touched Angel's chest, prodding him and poking him - a delighted grin lighting up his face as he felt the solidity of Angel beneath the tips of his own solid fingers.

Angel took a step back and slapped his hand away. 'Hey! Stop touching me,' he snapped.

Spike ran his tongue across his lips - and made contact with the trickle of blood running down his nose - from where he had slammed face first into the door. His eyes lit up even brighter. 'I can...' he grabbed the mug of blood from Angel's hand and began to drink lustily.

'Hey!' Angel protested again. But Spike wasn't listening. He gulped away at the viscous liquid, revelling in the sensation of its warmth filling his mouth and sliding down his throat. 'Mmm mmm mmm, oh god it's bloody ambrosia.' He looked up, once the mug was empty. 'Is this otter?'

'What's going on?' Gunn asked, walking up to the pair of them. He meant the phones - every single one in the building, it seemed, was ringing off the hook. But for an answer he got Spike throwing his arms around him. 'I'm back Charlie boy!' Spike cried, 'that's what's going on.'

'He's corporeal,' Gunn said - once the sudden hug was broken. He frowned at Angel, 'when did this … I mean, how?'

'I don't know he just…'

But Spike was starting to work it out - it must have been the flash he got in the mail, it must have worked some kind of mojo. He didn't know where it came from - or who sent it, nor did he care. 'But if you see him, give him a bloody kiss on the mouth from me,' he told Angel.

Angel was less delighted by this turn of events. This was ... a worry. On top of all the other things he already had to worry about. Though it wasn't actually the most pressing - the constant ringing of the phones were more of an immediate problem. They were actually more irritating than Spike - and that shouldn't be possible. 'Harmony, what is going on with the phones?' he demanded.

She came out from behind the desk and joined the small group - Spike raked his eyes over her and began to smile. 'Nobody knows,' she told her boss. 'It's, like, all over the office. And all there is is "eee" on the other end,' she imitated the screeching that had nearly pierced her eardrum. 'Plus now my computer is freaking,' she finished up.

Spike was still watching her, still smiling. He grabbed hold of her arm, 'Harm'. She turned towards him and he grabbed hold of her, pulling her in for a kiss. 'Get off!' She shoved him away from herself and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. 'Ew.'

'I need to borrow your Girl Friday for a bit,' he said to Angel.

'Permission denied.'

'I wasn't asking.' He took hold of Harmony's wrist and began to pull her away - but once again Harmony put up a fight, wrenching her arm back and refusing to be pulled along. 'Oh my god! What? You think that just 'cause you're all ...solid now, I'm gonna go -'

'That's a very pretty skirt you're wearing.'

She couldn't maintain the anger - not with her Blondie Bear looking at her like that. It made her head go all tingly. Though she tried to bite it back, she couldn't stop herself from smiling. Spike was looking very pleased, still looking at her with those eyes that made her… 'taking a long lunch break, boss,' she said - and ran off with Spike.

* * *

They paid the taxi driver and got out at the docks - it was busy; noisy and chaotic. Gulls flew overhead, screeching. Cargo was being loaded onto boats. Fishing boats were docking and unloading their haul onto the little piers. Doyle and Cordy pushed their way through the crowds. 'Now what?' he asked her.

'We look for someone going where we wanna go,' she replied. She took hold of his wrist, so they wouldn't get separated in the bustle, and pulled him through the throng.

There was a small boat docked against pier number four - and a youngish man finishing packing something onto the deck. Cordy approached him, Doyle hanging behind her awkwardly. '¿Habla Inglés?' she asked the man. He shook his head - but pointed towards an older man, sitting on the dockside, on a crate - seemingly just watching all the activity. 'El habla Ingles,' the young man told her. 'El jefe.'

'Thanks - uh - gracias.' She headed back down the pier, back towards the dock. 'Maybe this guy can help us,' she said to her boyfriend - as he followed on behind.

'I hope so.'

They fought their way through the crush, towards the boss, dodging fishing nets and packing crates as they went. The man saw them approaching, he raised an eyebrow and took a long drag on his cigarette.

'Hi,' Cordelia said to him, she fixed her biggest and brightest smile in place.

'Buenos dias senora,' he nodded at her. 'Senor,' he nodded at Doyle, who shuffled his feet and mumbled 'hello'.

'The - uh - senor over there told me you speak English?' Cordy asked, her voice raising up hopefully at the end. 'Habla ingles.'

'Si senora - I speak English.'

'Great,' her smile became even wider - as it became more natural. This was at least a little success. She began to explain what she and Doyle wanted - where they wanted to go. 'We can pay,' she said, 'if anyone's headed in that direction, we can pay for our passage.'

He took another long drag on his cigarette, blowing the smoke into their faces and staring at them, coolly. 'Why you wanna go there?' he asked. 'Not many Americanos go there.'

They glanced at each other. 'It's a long story, bud,' Doyle told him. 'But it's real important that we get there - is there anyone headed that way at all?' The man didn't answer right away, he was still scrutinising them from under his grey, beetling eyebrows - and pulling on his cigarette. Finally he dropped the cigarette to the floor and ground the butt under his heel, then he got to his feet. 'Si,' he nodded. And the young couple breathed a sigh of relief. 'Go to pier nueve,' he held up nine fingers and then pointed further down the docks. 'There's a boat - La Sirena De Manta - ask for Xavier. He get you where you're going.'

Doyle and Cordy nodded their understanding, thanked the man and then headed towards pier nine, and the little cargo boat docked there. The man watched them go, following them with his eyes as they disappeared amongst the crowds - and took out another cigarette.

* * *

_The coach rattled down the unpaved road, bouncing over stones and down divets. Inside, William and Angelus lolled back on the upholstered seats and laughed. 'And then when you popped up in the middle of the ceremony,' William was saying, wheezing with laughter and wiping the tears from his eyes, 'grabbed the priest's head and squeezed it until it popped like a …'_

'_Rotted melon,' Angelus supplied his own simile. His tone was vicious and his smile was cruel. He pulled the woman - his victim - closer to his side. She was the bride, her white dress now stained with her own blood and the blood of her new husband. Her neck was torn and her eyes were glassy. She hadn't long left to live, was barely conscious from the blood loss, but she was still alive enough to be frightened as she felt herself gripped tightly in this monster's embrace. _

_William was laughing even harder, pleased with the comparator Angelus had found. 'Yes!' That was it exactly, rotting fruit - the mushed pulp bleeding its way through the wrinkled skin. 'Eyeballs dangling from their sockets - and then you call out "frankly father thine eyes offend me". Bloody priceless! And beating the groom to death with his own arm. I mean, honestly - you're a bloody killing marvel.'_

'_Yeah,' Angelus was not interested in the adulation. 'Have a drink.' He offered the bride to his companion, claiming he had already had his fill. But William declined, the bride was Angelus' spoils, he was thinking he might go and find Drusilla. She was hunting for street urchins in the East End - it would make her happy if her sweet boy joined her. _

_Angelus leaned back in his own seat, his expression became calculating - though William, still high from the kill and thinking of his dark love, did not notice. 'She's special, isn't she?' Angelus asked, his voice slow, 'our Drusilla.'_

'_She's more than that,' William's voice took on a tone of reverence as he spoke about all his sire had done for him. 'She brought me into this world. Where I was meant to be. It's like … she's my destiny.' _

'_Yeah - she is a sweet plum. I mean, a bit dotty and brain addled but…'_

'_She's not,' he frowned, wanting to defend her. She was special - different - saw things that others could not. But she wasn't … there was nothing wrong with her. 'It's like she's still got a bit of a child in her,' he explained. _

'_Probably two or three by now,' Angelus banged on the roof of the coach to get the coachman to stop. The horses were reigned in and, with a jolt, the carriage ground to a standstill. 'Happy hunting,' Angelus wished his protege. 'Go on - just be home before sunrise.'_

_William grinned, nodded that he would be careful - and climbed out of the coach._

_..._

Spike dragged Harmony down the hallway, holding on to her hand, checking through offices as they went. Eventually he got bored looking and doubled back into the last office, where some little lawyer was doing .. whatever the hell he was doing. Spike didn't care. 'You we need your office. Get out,' he commanded, pulling Harmony inside with him.

'What?' the lawyer laughed in disbelief. 'I don't take orders from a gh- hey!' He was cut off by the now very corporeal Spike grabbing holding of him, frogmarching him across the office and bundling him out of the door. 'You can't - get your hands off -' the door was slammed angrily in his face. 'Hey!' he called again, beginning to bang on his own office door.

'Piss off!' Spike yelled.

The man stared at his closed door for a moment, and then shook his head and walked off down the hallway. 'You're not gonna believe this, Jerry,' he said, stopping off at the photocopier to talk to the man standing there. 'I just got thrown out of my own office. That ghost pal of Mr. Goodfang, I guess he's…' the lawyer trailed off as Jerry turned to look at him and he caught glimpse of the look on his face. It was … murderous. And his eyes were red rimmed - literally - smeared with tears of blood.

'Toner,' Jerry snarled.

'Jerry?'

Jerry grabbed the fire extinguisher and swung it at the lawyer - again and again and again. 'Nobody … replaces … the toner.' He punctuated each word with a vicious blow to the lawyer's head.

* * *

Doyle and Cordelia sat balanced on a rickety wooden bench at the stern of La Sirena de Manta. The little boat was skipping across the ocean, the wind blew their hair around, whipping the strands of Cordelia's curls into her face. It was colder, out on the waves, though the sun shone down onto the sea, making it sparkle the clearest blue - whilst each wave was crested with dazzling flecks of white foam. The gulls skimmed overhead - their large wings taking advantage of the slips in the airstream allowing them to glide.

One of the crew approached them, and offered them a bottle of water. They took it from him gratefully and passed it between them. The sailor watched them for a while, his eyes screwed up against the glare of the sun. 'Is strange place where you are going, no?' he asked, after a short time. 'People - they no go there.'

'We have to,' Cordy told him, passing the water bottle back to Doyle, 'we have to speak to the people who live there.'

'The people - they strange too,' the crewman said.

'What do you mean?' Doyle asked him.

The man shrugged. 'They keep to themselves. Never come ashore. We take over food, water, paper, clothes - anything they ask for. They pay - but they never leave. They …' he looked uncertain, biting his lip. 'Forgive me - perhaps I should not say … but they not look right either.'

'I bet they don't,' Doyle muttered.

'You two - you look right. You not fit there. So why you going?'

They glanced at each other, wondering what to say - what explanation to give. 'We need to find out what they know,' Cordelia said at last.

* * *

Angel strode through the lobby - firing orders at the people who worked at the front desk, telling them to kill all the phones, the computers - shut them down, find out if there was a bug in the system and then find out who put it there. 'Figure we're under some kind of attack again?' Gunn asked him, as the flunkies scurried away to do his bidding.

'I don't know what to figure yet,' he replied, grimly, as Fred came hurrying down the main stairs. 'Angel?' she called out to him. He turned to look at her. 'Let me guess, the lab computers are on the fritz?'

'Well - yeah - but that's just the tip of the fritzberg. The needles on our atmospheric gauges suddenly started spiking into red. Totally blew out the instruments.'

'Sounds like some electrical surge,' Angel frowned, the team headed into his office, 'like what's affecting the phones and the internal system.' He sat down in his swivel chair and sighed.

'Well that's what I thought at first,' Fred agreed, 'but now I think it might be something else.'

'It's never simple is it?' he picked up his number 1 boss mug and tried to take a sip, nothing happened - and he stared into the cup in surprise, before banging it down on the desk in annoyance. 'He drank all my blood! Harmony!' He called for his assistant - but there was no reply.

'She's off having a nooner with Blondie Bear, remember?' Gunn reminded him. Angel grimaced - but Fred looked dumbfounded. 'She's _off_ \- what - with _Spike_? How?'

'He's corporeal again,' Angel admitted. She looked even more staggered. 'How?'

'Got something in the mail,' Gunn told her, 'flash bam boom - he's a solid citizen again.'

'Oh my god how come you didn't call me?'

'Well we were a bit distracted, dealing with the glitch in the office system,' Angel sighed and rolled his eyes, 'which just so happened to coincide with the moment Spike became corporeal again … and I can't believe I'm only just getting that.' He slumped down in his chair. Why him? Why did these things always have to happen to him? And why did they always have to include _Spike?_ It wasn't fair. Had he not suffered enough? Paid enough for all he'd done? Did the PTB really think a giant, bleached blonde pain in the ass was really necessary for him to achieve atonement?

'Maybe when Spike's matter was reintegrated into physical form, it had some kind of ripple effect on the immediate environment,' Fred theorised. She wrinkled her brow and thought harder. 'Or if those gauge readings are correct, it could be the start of something bigger like -'

'The entire known universe being thrown into bloody, shrieking disarray?' They all turned to look. Lilah was leaning on the door frame, her arms folded, looking smug. 'Yeah - that's pretty much where we are Gidget - so buckle on up.'

'You knew about this?' Angel asked her, as she walked into the office and perched herself on the edge of her desk. But she shook her head. 'The seers alerted me to the situation. Though the incessant ringing of the phones had already tipped me off. All this bedlam - it's a harbinger of something terrible yet to come.'

'Can you say that in plain English?' Angel asked her, his tone was flat - unimpressed by her tales of destruction and woe. She grinned at him, wolfishly. 'Better than that,' she said, 'I can say it plain Proto-Bantu.'

'Come again?'

'Shanshu - wonderbread. The prophecy - embedded deep in the scrolls of Aberjian - the scrolls certain vampires, who shall remain nameless, cut my hand off for…'

'And I'll do it again if you don't get to the point.'

'Right at the bottom,' Lilah said, as if there had been no interruption, 'a footnote - an epilogue - is this one little word 'shanshu'. Live and die. And the prophecy attached to it "the vampire with a soul shall become human"…'

'Right - Angel's reward,' Gunn shrugged, 'what's that gotta do with…'

'Well there in lies the rub, bub.' She laughed. 'The prophecy never actually mentions our large foreheaded friend by name. It could be about - well - just about any vampire with a soul. Who acts as a champion. Say … closing a hellmouth and defeating the First Evil - thus saving the world.'

Fred looked troubled. 'Are you saying that the Shanshu prophecy is really about Spike?' she asked.

Lilah shook her head. 'Nobody knows. Could be. And it's the uncertainty that's causing the wackiness to ensue. See, before Spike died, he didn't have the champion creds - and once he was a ghost, well, he was dead. No competition for the dark avenger, here. But now he's back? All bets are off. Two champions, one prophecy - and a universe thrown into chaos.'

'I'm gonna go check something,' Gunn said to Angel, headed for the door - he looked perturbed and so Angel didn't stop him as he left the room and made for the elevators. Fred was frowning at Lilah. 'You knew this would happen,' she said, 'all those weeks I was working on corporealising Spike - you knew…'

'Hold up, Dorothy, it's my universe too - and I _always_ look out for number one. If I had had so much as an inkling what would happen if you pulled off your little science project, I'd have been shouting it from every rooftop going. All I know is - things are about to implode, this situation is deeply dangerous.'

* * *

Spike had Harmony on top of the desk, her legs were wrapped around his waist and she was moaning - though she didn't sound to be in much pleasure. 'Spike,' she gasped.

'Lets not talk,' he said, 'let's not ruin the moment.' He wasn't even looking at her - so he didn't notice that her eyes were red - crying tears of blood. Her face vamped out, she leaned up - and bit Spike's neck. He yelled out in sudden, surprised pain.

* * *

The boat docked, Cordy and Doyle tried to stay out of the way as the crew moored the little vessel, tying it to a post with a rope. 'Here, we are Senor, Senora,' the man who spoke English said to them.

The young couple struggled their way off the boat and onto the dock, as the crew began to unload all the packages they had brought to the strange people who lived on the island. Cordy raised her hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun - and noticed a man walking along the shore towards them, towards the boat and its cargo. She nudged Doyle and pointed and he turned to gaze in the direction she indicated.

The man approached them. They recognised him at once - though his was a face they hadn't seen in four years, almost to the day. They remembered well his greyish skin, ridged face and large, haunted eyes. 'I know you two,' the man - the elder of the Lister demons - said to them, as he came to a stop in front of them, recognising them in turn. 'The friends of The Promised One. Welcome to Briole.'


	31. Destiny: Part Two

_Part Two_

Spike felt the pain of Harmony's teeth sinking into his neck, tearing into his flesh. He pulled back - ripping her away from him - and scrambled back to his feet. 'what the bloody hell has gotten into…' he started to say, fumbling with his fly - then he looked up, once he was zipped up, and saw the blood streaming from her eye sockets. '...your eyes,' he finished up, in horror.

Harmony was on her feet now, as well - standing facing him - her body was taut, like she was ready to fight. 'I'm not!' she yelled at him, her face still vamped out. 'Not yours!'

He held his hands up in surrender, 'right - not mine,' he agreed quickly.

'Using me. Making me think - feel like I'm yours. You don't want me. You want your slayer whore!' she rushed at him. 'I'll kill you!'

He swung his fist at her - and she flew back through the air, smashing into the necro tempered glass of the window and then falling to the floor. Spike just stared at her unconscious body, wondering what the bloody hell was going on.

* * *

The demon elder - Raelif - paid the crew of La Sirena De Manta and thanked them for the supplies they had brought. The men nodded, looking slightly unnerved by the demon's strange face, glancing around the island - anxious to get off. Once they had sailed away, Raelif put his fingers in his mouth and whistled, long and loud. More Lister demons appeared - melting out from the shadows, creeping out from behind rocks - leaving their hiding places now the humans had gone away and they felt safe once more. The demons picked up the crates and parcels the crew had left behind, and carried them away - heading back inland.

'It's this way,' Raelif said to the young couple, 'I live not far from here - please…' he gestured at them to follow him and - with a swift glance at each other - Cordy and Doyle followed the demon back to his home.

Home turned out to be a small hut made of driftwood - surrounded by other similar dwellings, creating a small village. There was a hole in the roof of the house - and smoke billowed out from it. 'I'm afraid our homes are very simple,' Raelif, apologised to them, 'this far from the world of humans … we have to make do with what we can build ourselves.'

He led them inside, ducking down to get through the doorway. It was dark inside - and smoky. There was a fire pit in the middle of the room - directly underneath the hole in the roof - and that was sending the smoke up through the primitive chimney, though some still escaped into the little house. There was a table and chairs, inside the room - and Raelif told them to sit down. 'I'll make you some tea,' he said to them. He placed a pan of water on a tripod over the fire. 'It takes a while to heat up,' he explained.

There was the sound of chatter - as two young people entered from the next door room - a young man and a teenage girl. They stopped and stared when they saw Doyle and Cordy. Raelif got to his feet. 'Rief, Rayna,' he said to them, 'we have some guests. The friends of The Promised One.' He turned back to his visitors, 'my children,' he said to them, 'they've grown since last you saw them.'

Doyle nodded - remembering the angry teenaged boy and the scared little girl he had met at the squat - all those years ago. 'I remember,' he said, 'it's good to see you both - doin' so well.'

'What are they doing here?' Rief asked his father.

'When the people who saved your life - your children's lives - turn up at your home, you invite them in - make them welcome - before you ask what it is they want,' Raelif said to him.

'So you don't know?' Rief snorted. Doyle couldn't help but notice that - even safe on this island, safe with his family - Rief didn't seem a whole lot less angry than he had been, all those years before.

'They will tell me, when they are ready,' the young man's father said, evenly. The water in the pan began to boil - and Raelif tipped its contents into five mugs. He used two teabags and swapped them between the cups, stirring them until the boiling water turned black - and then added long life milk. 'Island life means we have to be careful of what we use - and lack of electricity means we can't keep food fresh,' he said by way of apology. 'Still - it's better here than it was, back in America. Privation is better than danger - and you get used to UHT milk.'

Rief snorted again - but the sound of it he hadn't adapted to the straightened living conditions of the island at all.

'It's fine,' Cordelia said, quickly, 'really - we don't mind - we're just glad you're willing to talk to us.'

'You saved our lives. Protected us from The Scourge - at great risks to yourselves. Both of you will always be welcome here - and your friend, The Promised One.' He came to the table and handed the cups of tea around, sitting down with them.

Doyle cleared his throat and squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. 'Actually,' he said, 'um - events over the past few years have - um - well, they've made us reassess what actually happened that night. That's sort o' why we're here. You see… turns out, Angel never was The Promised One. I know he looks the part - and he fits the hero spec - but … it was never Angel that was prophecied to save y' that night.' He looked even more uncomfortable, feeling the haunted eyes of the three Lister demons on him the whole time, wondering what it was he was trying to say. 'Turns out,' Doyle continued, 'and no one was more surprised to learn this than I was - but it turns out that The Promised One was … well … _me_.'

* * *

The medical staff pulled a blanket over the dead lawyer's head and wheeled his body away on a trolley, whilst more of them worked at strapping Jerry down. 'Self centred jerks!' he called out, laughing maniacally, thrashing around underneath his bonds. 'A little thing called being considerate!' One of the medical staff injected him with a tranquiliser. 'Replace …' he passed out.

Angel stood with Lilah, his hands on his hips - surveying the scene and glowering. Lorne was sat in the corner, a towel pressed against his head. On the wall, the word 'Toner' was daubed in human blood - Angel tried to blot out the smell of it and concentrate on what his friend was telling him.

'Well then I see Mr. Considerate, here, covered in blood,' Lorne was saying, he gestured to Jerry. 'Making mashed potatoes out of the other fella. And before I could get to "what's wrong with this picture?" he clocks _me_ right in the coconut!' his voice went up with indignation at the end.

A security guard approached Angel, 'sir we have two more attacks - one fatality.'

Angel sighed. 'OK, seal off the building,' he ordered. 'Nobody gets in or out until we know what we got here: spell, virus, mass hysteria...'

The guard nodded and walked off speaking into his walkie talkie, 'affirmative, we have a code black, we are closing Pandora's box...'

Lorne got back to his feet, still clutching the towel to his bleeding head. If it was all the same to Angel, he was going to ride this one out barricaded in his office, with a SeaBreeze and an ice pack. Angel nodded - that was fine, he didn't suppose there was much Lorne could do to help anyway. Nobody knew what was going on. But he asked the green demon to stop by the lab, first, and tell Fred to get back to him the moment she knew what was causing this. Lorne nodded and walked off. Lilah gave Angel a hard stare.

'What?' he asked, irritably.

'Oh come on, Angel - strap on those cape and tights and face up to this. You _know _what is causing this.'

'Enlighten me,' he said - they began to walk away down the hall - away from the grisly murder scene.

'Wise up, champ! The whole fabric of reality is beginning to unravel - and it comes down to you and …'

An office door opened and Spike came stumbling out. 'Spike,' Angel finished up, sounding even more irritable. The other vampire looked at them both and shook his head. 'I don't know what you're putting in the water coolers around here, but your secretary just started crying blood and tried to rip me a few new ones,' he complained.

'Harmony?'

'Had to put her porch lights out - for the best, I'm sure you understand.'

'Oh yeah,' Angel said, his voice blank but ironic, 'you're a real hero.'

'Budum tish!' Lilah smirked. 'And that there, my two fearless champions, is exactly why we find ourselves in this world of madness. There's only supposed to be one candidate for the Shanshu prophecy. One vampire hero with a soul ready to be made a real boy once again. But now there's two of you. And the whole world and the wheel of destiny are spinning off their axis.'

Spike furrowed his brow, 'hang on a minute - are you blaming us?'

'No - she's blaming _you_,' Angel replied through gritted teeth.

Lilah held her hands up, 'I'm not playing the blame game - it's gets us nowhere. But - whilst we're on the subject - this town might not be big enough for the both of you.'

But that suited Spike right down to the ground. Screw this town. Screw this whole devil's fun house - and actually, whilst he was on it - screw Angel too for good measure. If that was the way it was gonna be, he'd take his new flesh and bones back across the pond … he grinned wickedly … 'to Europe.' He turned and began to storm off down the corridor.

'Cool your heels, Blondie Bear,' Lilah called after him. He stopped and turned back to look at her. 'Are you always this literal?' she asked him, 'how on earth have you survived for so long being so dense?'

'That's what I'd like to know,' Angel murmured.

'By _town _\- I mean this entire planet. Bigger even - this entire plane of existence. You can't solve this disequilibrium just by _leaving_. If anything - you might make it worse.'

The elevator doors opened and Gunn stumbled out, loosening his tie. He collapsed on the floor, leaning against the wall and stared up at them. 'Let's not make this worse,' he said. 'We don't want worse. I just went up to the whiteroom to see what the big cat had to say …'

'And?' Angel asked.

'Cat's gone. The whiteroom too. The elevator just opened up into a howling abyss. You ever heard a howling abyss?' he shook his head, 'horrible sound.'

'So we've lost the conduit,' Lilah said, 'another one. That means we've got no contact with The Senior Partners. We're all alone in this.'

'Could you at least try and look like you're not enjoying this quite so much?' Angel asked her.

'You think I'm enjoying being alone with you guys and a gaping hole in the universe?' she quirked an eyebrow. 'You think if we're about to be sucked into oblivion, you guys are my top pick to be on my team? Please.'

'I don't wanna be sucked into oblivion,' Gunn shook his head and groaned. Angel sighed. 'Spike - stay,' he said, though it sounded like it physically pained him to say it. 'Europe will still be there after we've worked this out.'

'Maybe,' Gunn said, doubtfully.

'Probably,' Angel frowned.

'And how exactly are we gonna work this out, boss man?' Spike asked him. 'You're telling me we got a tear in the galaxy or whatnot? What? You think we're just gonna sew that back up?'

'I left my cosmic needle and thread in my other purse,' Lilah said, 'damn - we're gonna need to find another way to figure this out, boys. Now the problem is the Shanshu prophecy - and not knowing who is the pivotal figure. So we need to find a way to work out which one of you is the real Pinocchio. We need to go back to the scrolls of Aberjian.'

Angel gave a bark of disbelieving laughter. 'Look - I just read the Shanshu prophecy. There's nothing in there.'

Spike was now looking very interested in the conversation, his eyebrows had hit his hairline. 'Hold on! You read the prophecy?' he asked, 'the one you don't believe in? Load of old rubbish, you said? Well … isn't that interesting?'

Angel tutted and folded his arms. Gunn glanced between the two of them. 'We need to speak to an expert,' he said, 'someone who knows about prophecy.'

'Fine - but Wesley's not here.'

'His department was here long before Wesley took charge of it,' Lilah pointed out. 'I'm sure we'll be able to find someone who can give us more details.'

'About what?' Angel protested, not understanding why they refused to listen to what he was telling them. 'There's nothing in there - I just read the prophecy.'

* * *

Doyle stared across the table, at the three sets of eyes staring back at him. He squirmed under their gaze. 'You?' Raelif said, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. 'You believe _you_ are The Promised One.'

'Um - well - actually - I _know_ it.'

Rief snorted in disbelief. 'Hey!' Cordy yelled at him, her eyes blazing with indignation, 'what? You think a guy's gotta be six feet tall with an overhanging forehead to be some prophecied messiah? That's not how the world works, sunshine. Doyle was chosen by The Powers That Be to bear the visions - he's the king of his own demon dimension and the father of an evil god. So I think he's special enough to qualify as a pivotal figure in your people's myths and legends as well. Big things can come in small packages, you know.' She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, still looking furious at the perceived slight against her boyfriend. Doyle gave her a small smile, but she refused to be mollified.

'You'll have to forgive my son,' Raelif said, leaning forward across the table, 'both of you. It's just - in the years since we came to Briole, that night - escaping The Scourge - it has become a legend. We celebrate its anniversary - every year. And your friend …' he shrugged. 'We have got used to thinking of your friend as the one who saved us - not that we don't remember all three of you - aren't grateful for the danger you all put yourselves in, just to save us. But he was the leader. He has taken his place as The Promised One in our stories - and now you tell us that our stories are wrong. It takes some getting used to.'

'He was the leader,' Doyle agreed, 'he just wasn't the one that was sent to you. I was.'

'Doyle was the one who had the vision of you all in trouble. _Hello! _That should have been a tip off that he was the chosen guy,' Cordelia said. It seemed she had taken the insinuation that Doyle couldn't be a hero - or was less likely to be a hero than Angel - quite personally.

'Do you remember, that night, you said that you felt like the prophecies had been wrong, that you had been sent the promised three?' Doyle asked Raelif. The demon elder nodded. 'Well - that was because that night didn't go down the way it was supposed to,' the Irishman continued, explaining. 'Destiny was altered - a higher power ...interceded, I guess … on my behalf.' He took a deep breath. 'See, The Scourge had this beacon - a weapon that killed anythin' with human blood and - I dunno - I guess we weren't meant to get to the ship as quickly as we did, or what was meant to happen - but we were all meant to get trapped in the hold with that beacon. But we didn't. You sailed off safely before The Scourge even got there. This higher being changed … somethin' - I dunno, this little, subtle moment that was meant to happen and didn't - and the whole world was changed because of it.'

Rief had suddenly gone very still. He remembered packing his things - how angry he had been, and underneath the anger - the fear. He had stormed towards the door, his little sister pleading with him to stop the whole way. And that was when he had felt it - a shining light take hold of him, take away the anger and fear - and convinced him to stay. He was supposed to have run away. That would have slowed down their leaving - if they went to look for him. If he'd run away - The Scourge would have caught up with them. That shining light must have been the higher power these two visitors spoke of. It was him - his actions - that had altered destiny. He narrowed his eyes and sat a little straighter - listening more carefully.

'We knew right away - the very next day - that things hadn't happened the way they were supposed to - that some kind of power had changed things for us, but at the time we didn't know how or what that meant,' Doyle was explaining to Raelif. 'But then a few months later I got told - from a completely unreliable source, but it turned out to be true, that I was supposed to die that night - that I was meant to burn up destroying the beacon.' He shuffled uncomfortably. 'I've - uh - actually since seen a rerun of what was meant to happen that night. To me. It - it wasn't pretty.'

'The Scourge disappeared after that night,' Cordelia took up the story, as Doyle went quiet contemplating the vision of his own face melting off. 'We spent … months - trying to hunt them down, to find their beacon. And then Doyle discovered it - by accident - in the vault at Wolfram and Hart.'

Doyle nodded. 'And that's part of how we know for sure that I'm the Promised One. I could feel it callin' to me, leadin' me right to where it was bein' kept. Angel was with me - he tried to smash it. He couldn't. It wouldn't break for him - 'cause he wasn't the one destined to destroy it. So I tried - it broke first time - glass flyin' everywhere… then we had to escape pretty fast.'

Raelif nodded slowly, though his mouth was twisted and his brow furrowed - as if something did not quite make sense. 'This is a lot you've had to come to terms with,' he said, 'but - forgive me - I do not understand why that brings you here. Now.'

Doyle and Cordy glanced at each other. She gave him a small nod, telling him to go ahead, and he took a deep breath before he answered. 'The Scourge are back,' he told the family of Lister demons. 'They're killin' people like us all over L.A. The Powers are sendin' me visions about it - they expect me to sort it out. It's my destiny - I guess. But …' he trailed off, not sure what to say.

'But we don't really know where to start - or what this even means,' Cordy said, 'what it means for Doyle. And well - I guess - we were hoping maybe you could tell him some more of what it means that he's The Promised One.'

* * *

'You didn't read the prophecy!'

'I didn't?' Angel asked in confusion. He and Lilah, Gunn and Spike had gone down to Wesley's department in the hope of finding someone who could explain the Shanshu text to them in more detail. What they found was Sirk, the former watcher, who had called forth the prophecy from one of the templates but was treating the whole lot of them with disdain and scorn. 'You read a translation of the prophecy,' he scoffed, his lip curling. 'It's like comparing the King James bible with the original Aramaic. Much of the flavour, the subtlety of usage, the historical context has been stripped away.' He made a derisive sound in the back of his throat. '_Read the prophecy_,' he repeated Angel's words with contempt. 'You might as well have read a twelve year old's book report on the subject.'

'I miss Wesley,' Gunn whispered, leaning across to Angel. The vampire didn't reply - though he agreed. Instead he asked Sirk if, now he'd made his point, there was anything in the scrolls of Aberjian that could help them in their current situation.

'Yeah,' Spike said, 'what's it say about me?'

Sirk opened the template and scanned through the text which appeared there. There was a recently translated group of verses that had come to light, which may prove relevant. He ran the tips of his fingers across the page until he found what he was looking for. 'The root of the tree will split in two. And each will seek nourishment from the buried river. The balance will falter until the vampire with a soul drinks from the cup of perpetual torment.'

'So there's a cup?' Lilah clarified. Sirk nodded and carried on reading. 'He will have the weight of worlds upon him, binding his limbs, grinding his bones to meal - until he saves creation … or destroys it.'

'Uh … right. So what's in it for me?' Spike asked, sounding less than impressed with the promised suffering and torment.

'The vampire will have his past washed clean…' Sirk read.

'...and live again in mortal form,' Angel finished up, 'yeah, that part I know.'

'Yeah, I bet you do,' Spike snarked at him.

Gunn was thinking about how they could sort all this - so, if Angel drank from this cup then the computers should go back online, the phones should stop ringing and people would hopefully stop turning into homicidal maniacs? Not to mention that the howling abyss outside the elevator would hopefully go far far away.

'Hang on,' Spike looked annoyed, 'who says it's Angel supposed to take the swig? Who says it's about him at all?'

'Oh come on Spike!' It was Angel's turn to snark. 'You really think this about you?'

'Oh why the bloody hell not?' he snapped back, 'just 'cause you...'

'Gentlemen, please,' Lilah held her hand up to interrupt them. 'I know you both want to believe you're the super specialist vampire that ever didn't live - but all the rest of us care about is not having that tear in the universe made any bigger. We're not gonna sew that up by you two getting into fisticuffs here in the office - you wanna duke it out - do it on your own time. But for now - let's focus.' She turned to Sirk, 'is there anything in that prophecy at all that can tell us which one is meant to drink from the cup? We don't want to get this wrong.'

'There is no wrong,' the former watcher assured her. 'The drinking of the cup is predestined. That can't be changed. Whoever drinks from it was meant to. When one of them is confirmed as the central figure of the prophecy, the universe should realign itself.'

'So - where is this cup?' Gunn asked. Sirk returned to his book, poring over it once more and muttering as he read. Housed in the hidden city of Petra… lost during the crusades… surfaces again at the Vatican … but vanished once more during the third year of the inquisition. He read on, tracing with the words with his fingertips - until he found what he was looking for. 'It's in Nevada,' he announced. 'Death valley to be accurate. "The earth will thrash and mark the appearance of the cup at the columns",' he read. '"And the desert will swallow the cup whole and"…' he looked up at them, 'this last bit can only be loosely translated,' he warned. '"And the fat lady shall sing no more".'

'Opera,' Angel realised - he saw the others glancing at him, not understanding. 'The Columns was an opera house in Death Valley,' he explained. 'It was buried in an earthquake in '38. Made headlines in Los Angeles. That's only a few hours away. I can get there and back before…'

But Gunn was not sure now was the time to go on a quest for the holy grail of perpetual torment. They had a seriously major crisis going on there at the office. They couldn't afford for Angel to go mystical cup hunting.

But Angel didn't see that he had a choice. 'If it's there, I'm just gonna have to accept that the prophecy's real and hope that it stops this madness. In the meantime, you're in charge.' He got to his feet and started to pull on his coat. 'Keep this place quarantined until I'm …' he looked around the room. Someone was missing. 'Where's Spike?' He asked.

* * *

Spike pressed his foot down and zoomed down the deserted highway, singing along to the radio. It felt good to be on a mission. And corporeal. And getting one over on Angel breath. He smirked as the car phone began to ring. 'Yello,' he said, answering it.

'You took my viper,' Angel's voice came down the line, sounding incredibly pissed off.

'My viper now, mate. Possession's 9/10ths. Oughtta know that, running a law firm and such.'

'You think this is a game?' Angel demanded - he too was speeding down the same highway. 'People are dying!'

'And one of us is going to stop it. Hey! What do you know? I vote for me.'

'There is no voting,' Angel snapped. 'It's a prophecy. And the Shanshu isn't about you, Spike.'

But that just made Spike smirk harder. 'Still can't accept it, can you?' he asked. 'Sad, really. All these years thinking you're the signified monkey, only to find out you're a big hunk of nobody cares.'

'I really wished you'd stayed a ghost.'

'But I didn't, did I? Burned up saving the world and now I'm back. Wonder why - oh yeah - 'cause I'm the one you git!'

'Spike I don't have time to -'

But Spike cut him off, making the sound of static crackling with his mouth. 'What's that? I'm losing you - you're…' he made the static sound again, 'what do they call it?' more static. 'Oh right. Breaking up - you're breaking up.' And with one more static crackle, he hung up the phone. 'Ponce,' he muttered.

In his own car, Angel slammed his own phone down. 'Idiot!' he hissed, through gritted teeth.

* * *

Raelif got to his feet, crossed the little room and took down a heavy book from the bookshelf. He came back and laid the tome down on the table, blowing the dust from its leather bindings. 'These are the ancient prophecies of the Lister demons,' he told the young couple. 'Many of our prophecies are cryptic - but on one thing they are all clear. That in the final days of the last century, a Promised One would come forth and save us from The Scourge.' He turned the yellowing leaves of the book until he found the page he was looking for. Then he turned the book so Doyle and Cordy could see and pushed it towards them.

They leaned over the page and pored over its contents. The writing was curling, like fancy calligraphy, though the ink had faded in places - making it hard to read. Doyle traced the words with his fingers - touching the spot where he was mentioned in ancient scripture. It felt strange, seeing it written down in black and white - his destiny part of holy writ - and he felt his stomach lurch as he read the words. He had known he was The Promised One for a long time, now - though it had never meant much before. And Cordelia was right, he was the King of Pylea - the messiah with the pure sight, and the father of a former higher being - the only one with the power to stop her - and thus save the world - as well. He knew all that, on an intellectual level, knew Cordelia was right that he was special. But it still felt strange seeing it written down. It made it seem more real, somehow - and that made it more frightening.

He became aware of Cordelia watching him rather than looking at the page, and he looked back at her - wondering why she was looking at him. Wondering if he looked different now the prophecy was in front of them. But she was only looking worried. 'You OK?' she asked him, quietly. He nodded. Then he cleared his throat and looked up at Raelif. 'Um- there's not a whole lot of detail, here,' he said. It was pretty much exactly what the demon elder had already told them.

'No - the precise way we would be saved was never made clear. Just the promise - that someone would save us. Clearly the prophecy did not foresee the divine intervention that came to pass. Which puts you in a unique position.'

Cordelia nodded. 'Jasmine said - your destiny was over but you were still here. That there had never been someone like you in the world before,' she said to Doyle.

He squirmed, made uncomfortable by the import of her words. 'I can't be the first bloke who's outlived his usefulness,' he said, 'not in the whole history of all humanity.'

'No usefulness - destiny,' she corrected him, 'and you're not human.'

'Right - OK - but what does all this mean?' he looked around at everyone in the room, hoping that one of them would have the answers.

'If stopping The Scourge was truly your destiny,' Raelif said slowly, 'and now they are back ... then that means that your destiny isn't over, after all. It means your true purpose has returned - and you must fulfil it.'

Cordelia gasped. 'Are you saying Doyle's going to die?' she asked. She gripped his hand, tightly, as if afraid he was suddenly going to be snatched away from her right now. 'I won't allow it. If I have to rewrite his destiny myself this time, I'll do it. I won't let him die.'

Raelif gave her a sad smile. 'The Promised One was meant to die many years ago - and yet he lives. What it means now - now his destiny has changed and he must face it once more - I cannot tell you. All bets are off.'

* * *

Angel pulled his car up in the desert and got out. There didn't seem to be anyone else around - no sign of Spike. Or of what he was looking for. The opera house had been buried by the quake of '38 - that had been a bad year for earthquakes. The one in Sunnydale had buried The Master beneath the ground for decades. And just like the church which had been the Master's prison for so long, the Columns was also lost - swallowed up by the earth. But there had to be a way in - this was his destiny.

He walked away from his car. He had been here before - before the quake. He'd seen the Marriage of Figaro. He knew it must be around here somewhere. He took another step - and felt the dry earth give way beneath his foot. He stepped back, hastily, and saw that the ground had crumbled away where he had stood - this must be …

The ground gave way beneath him and he fell straight down into the black. He hit the floor and when he looked up, he found himself in the middle of the grand entrance of the opera house. The sweeping staircase, leading to the auditorium, was still standing - it's green carpet still laid down - though a little worse for wear after over 50 years beneath the soil.

Careful, in case the stairs gave way just as the ground had, he followed the staircase upstairs and pushed the doors open at the top. He was in the stalls now - though not many chairs remained - and there, up on the stage - was a pedestal with a golden cup standing on it. He began to walk towards it. It wasn't calling to him, which troubled him. He remembered how Doyle had spoken about the way the beacon had called out to him - even when he wasn't that close. And he remembered how the scrolls of Aberjian - the Shanshu prophecy - had drawn him in. He was getting nothing from the cup - but he wasn't going to let that stop him. If the prophecy itself had called to him, then this cup must be meant for him.

'Here we are then.' He came to a stop. That was Spike's voice - coming from above him. He turned and - sure enough - there was his rival, his blood brother, his soulmate - stood up on the balcony, looking down at him. 'Two vampire heroes,' Spike said, 'competing to wet our whistle with a drink of light, refreshing torment.'

'Is that what you think you are, Spike?' he asked, 'a hero?'

'Saved the world, didn't I?'

'Once. Talk to me after you've done it a couple more times.'

'Done talking mate, got a prophecy needs fulfilling.' He walked away from the edge of the balcony and disappeared from Angel's view. 'Dammit! Spike!' But there was no answer.

...

_It was getting close to sunrise when William returned to the hotel. He hadn't found Drusilla - though he wasn't worried., It was she who had brought him into this world. She knew the rules and she knew to be careful. She would probably be waiting for him once he got inside. _

_He pushed the door to their rooms open - and was greeted by the sight of Angelus, wearing nothing but his shirt and thrusting away at a woman on the bed. Though he couldn't see much of her he could see she was in white. The bride. A smirk lit up William's face. 'Well… looks like you haven't had your fill of her after all…'_

_Angelus pulled away from the woman, turning to look when he heard William speak - and William got a better look on the woman on the bed. It was Drusilla. His Dru. On the bed__. With Angelus on top of her. Using her. He froze. _

_Drusilla smiled up at him, 'the little children didn't come out to play,' she said to him in her singsong voice. She sat up. 'Did you miss me, pretty William?' _

_He couldn't answer. He just stared. Angelus answered for him, his voice and his smile was mocking. 'I'm sure he did, Dru. After all - you are his destiny.'_

'_Oh that's so sweet.' _

_William felt sick. Angelus began to laugh - and then Drusilla joined in. He heard them both - their laughter ringing in his ears - and then he felt a rage, like nothing he'd ever known before, build inside of him and explode out. He saw red, and with a snarl of hatred, lunged towards Angelus._

_..._

Angel reached the front of the seats - only a few feet away now. His destiny. He jumped the orchestra pit and landed on the stage, making his way towards the cup. But just as he got close to it, there was a sound from above him - and Spike jumped down from the rafters, landing on the stage beside him. They both stared at the cup. 'Thought it'd be a little less goldeny,' Spike remarked, 'what with the torment and all.'

'So… what do we do now?'

Spike sighed. And then his arm snapped out and his fist smacked into Angel's face, knocking him off his feet. He sniggered. 'What do you think?'


	32. Destiny: Part Three

_Part Three_

Cordelia was still gripping Doyle's hand, refusing to let go in case he fulfilled his destiny and died right there on the spot. Her head was bent over the book, though, and she was reading through the prophecy - trying to find anything that might let her boyfriend off the hook - or change the meaning of the words. But there was nothing. Most of it was - if she was being kind - pure mumbojumbo and then there was that one line of writing, which stopped her heart and froze the blood in her veins. '_In the dying days of the final century of this thousand years, a Promised One shall appear. He alone shall defeat The Scourge and save our clan from destruction.' _

'It's not much to go on,' she said. 'We came a long way to find answers - we want to stop The Scourge - but we don't know how. Is there anything in your books that can help us? Fighting tips? Weaknesses? A cursed crystal that will melt their faces off?' Doyle flinched at her words - remembering the horrible vision of his own face melting away under the light of the beacon - until there was nothing but a black hollow and the echo of his final agonised scream. She noticed him shudder - and squeezed his hand. 'Is there anything in these prophecies that can tell us how the Promised One can fulfil his promise … without dying?' she asked.

But Raelif shook his head. 'I'm afraid our prophecies are only about our people. The Scourge only appear within the pages of the text when they clash with our clan - when they are fated to kill us. And then the time when we were promised our escape - promised a saviour. Almost every prophecy is cryptic - difficult to understand. The Promised One was the clearest of all them. That was why it held such mythic status within our group. But even when it comes to him - there is little. I'm afraid there is not much I can tell you of what this means for Doyle.' he looked at the Irishman then, 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I wish I could tell you more.'

Doyle shook his head - it didn't matter. If the prophecy was vague - then maybe what would happen to him was not foretold - maybe his destiny was still his own. Having seen himself recorded in a sacred text had not been a pleasant feeling, and he couldn't say he was upset or disappointed that there was not more written on him. He didn't want to know his destiny - most people probably didn't, truth be told. But if his future wasn't written - wasn't decided by The Powers That Be, or the fates or whoever decided these things - then that made him feel better. Maybe being The Promised One didn't have to mean being promised to die.

Cordelia was still thinking. 'OK,' she said, 'so you can't tell us anything more about Doyle - nothing more than we already knew, anyway. Is there anything more you can tell us about The Scourge?'

* * *

Angel got back to his feet. 'Spike - we don't have time for this,' he said wearily. There was a tear in the universe, Wolfram and Hart was in meltdown, people were dying - and Blondie Bear wanted to settle a score. This was so like him.

'Keep your knickers dry, Sally,' Spike sneered. 'You're not gonna last that long.' He threw another punch, but Angel caught his arm this time - and threw a punch of his own. 'Fine - we'll do it your way.'

They traded blows - moving fast and furious - each man light on his feet, keeping the space open. Sometimes they hit, sometimes they managed to dodge - but they kept on dancing - fists and feet lashing out time and again, a hundred years worth of bitterness and anger and envy laced into each blow.

Spike grabbed hold of Angel round the neck - and then threw him away from himself, putting all his strength into pushing the other vampire away from him - and away from the cup. Angel flew through the air - and crashed down onto the balcony. He landed on a large cross - a big, ornamental thing that must have once decorated the opera house in its heyday - but now lay amongst the debris of the ruins. His skin began to smoke - as the sacred icon seared into his flesh - and he scrambled away, kicking the cross away from himself in annoyance.

Down on the stage, Spike started to chuckle - a dark, humourless laugh. 'Oh yeah, look at you,' he said, his voice was sneering; mocking. 'Thinking you're the big saviour; fighting for truth, justice and … soccer moms. But you still can't lay flesh on a cross without smelling like bacon, can you?'

'Like you're any different,' Angel replied, angrily.

But Spike's reply was calm. His voice was even, as he stared up at his old rival and grandsire. The man who had done so much to bring them both where they were today. And none of it had been done by design - almost none of it. 'Well, that's just the thing,' he said. 'I am different. You had your soul _forced_ on you as a curse. To make you suffer for all the horrible things you've done. But me ..._I fought for my soul. _Went through the demon trials. Almost did me in a dozen times over, but I kept fighting. 'Cause I knew it was the right thing to do.'

He launched forward and jumped up to the balcony in one, giant leap - landing on his feet in front of Angel. 'It's my destiny.'

'Really? Heard it was just to get into a girl's pants.'

With a grunt of frustration, Spike kicked a fallen rebar - flipping it up through the air and into his hands and swung it at Angel's head. But the other man dodged it, somersaulting backwards off the balcony and landing on the stage, below. The cup was mere feet away, glowing tantalisingly golden in the darkness of the swallowed opera house. He stepped towards it.

But up above, Spike hurled his rebar as if it were a spear. It missed Angel and clattered to the stage. Angel turned back to look up at his opponent and Spike grabbed another fallen metal rod and launched himself over the balcony towards Angel, screaming. Angel grabbed the first rebar and - as Spike landed and swung his weapon - Angel swung back. The two bars clashed together in midair with a might clang which echoed around the theatre.

* * *

Gunn, Fred and Lilah were gathered in the lab, working the problem - as the victims of whatever this madness was were wheeled in. Harmony was pushed in on a trolley, sedated and strapped down, Gunn watched her get parked next to the toner guy. 'Six more cases. That's what - a 30% increase in the last hour?'

'32.4,' Fred replied, her nose buried in her notes, 'but who's counting?'

Lilah was watching her closely. 'Well, you're the big science brain,' she said, 'what's causing this? What's the link, the pattern, the trigger?'

'There isn't one,' Fred frowned, still reviewing her notes. 'Sex, age, position, psych profile, blood type, med history. There doesn't seem to be any pattern. Heck - the infection of Harmony shows that even species isn't a factor. It really seems like it could affect any of us.'

'Why are you answering her questions, Fred?' Fred's head snapped up as she heard the tone of Gunn's voice - it was practically a growl, dark and dangerous. He was leaning over the bench, his head hanging down. His hands were balled into fists, showing as much rage as was threatened in his voice - and he was shuddering, whether with anger or pain Fred wasn't sure. 'We don't trust this bitch.' He looked up - and both women saw that his eyes were now dripping blood. 'She'll kill us all!'

'Gunn!' Fred cried out in alarm, as the possessed man grabbed hold of Lilah by the throat and threw her up against the wall, keeping his tight grip around her neck. 'What are you now? Huh?' he yelled into her face, 'what have you become?'

Lilah's hands were wrapped around Gunn's own, trying to prise his fingers off her throat - but he was too strong. And realising she couldn't manage, she instead dug her long, sharp nails into his skin as hard as she could. He cried out in pain and let go - she staggered away, but she had only made him angrier - and he smacked her a hard right cross and then pinned her against the wall again, this time using his forearm to apply pressure to her windpipe.

'What's really in there, huh?' he screamed at her. She was clutching at his arm and making choking noises as her face slowly turned purple. 'Well, I guess you gotta breathe. Good to know.'

'Gunn, no!' Fred was struggling with the tranquiliser gun, her fingers fumbling in her frantic haste. At last, she managed to get the dart inside and cocked the gun, ready to shoot - but Gunn only glanced back at her and used his free arm to smack her down. She fell to the floor, the weapon fell from her hands - and the vial of tranquiliser smashed. Fred crawled away a few steps, getting out of the way of the violence and began to look around for a new weapon.

'You think we don't know you're behind this?' Gunn screamed into Lilah's face, as she continued to choke. 'You've been playing us. You've been playing us all along - for years - and now you have us right where you want us. What for? What are you gonna do? What are you? Some kind of monster? Show me!'

Lilah gripped onto the arm that was pinning her down, used his weight to steady herself. She snapped her leg up and kneed him hard in the groin. Gunn collapsed downward and she staggered away taking deep breaths, just as Fred arrived back with a fire extinguisher and swung it at Charles' head. He slumped to the ground, unconscious and the two women stared at each other shakily. 'We need to get him strapped down,' Fred said.

'I'll say,' Lilah agreed, massaging her damaged throat.

* * *

The metal rods clashed against each other as the two vampires fought - using the rebars as staffs, swinging and blocking each other - giving ground, regaining it. Angel got a lucky punch in and knocked Spike off his feet. He lay on his back and shook his head, as if shaking off the punch. 'Used to hit a lot harder than that, gramps,' he said and got back to his feet.

'No - it's just your head's got thicker.' He swung his rebar again - and immediately Spike brought his up to block it. They hit out at each other, time and again - only this time Angel was gaining ground, pushing Spike farther and father back. As they reached the end of the stage, Angel swung his weapon like a baseball bat, hitting the other vampire and sending him flying through the air.

Spike crashed back into the balcony, landing on the floor once again. Angel followed him, jumping up in one giant, swift movement. He landed and went to swing the rebar once more. But this time Spike was ready for him and blocked the hit. 'You're not gonna win this time,' he snarled - and threw a punch - and now it was Angel's turn to fly through the air.

He landed on the stage, bleeding - coughing as he tasted the iron tang of his own blood inside his mouth. Spike jumped down, landing beside him. 'Vampire with a soul,' the younger vampire said. 'Nobody knows what side he's gonna fight on … when the big show goes down. Except we already know what side you're on, don't we? Already made your choice. Traded in your cape and tights for a nice comfy chair at Wolfram and bloody Hart.' He swung his rebar.

Angel caught it mid swing. 'Bit more complicated than that,' he said. He used the iron rod to pull himself up and then knocked Spike down. He turned his back and began to walk towards the golden cup. 'But then you always were a bit simple … Willy.'

Lying splayed out on the stage, bleeding and bruised, Spike saw red.

* * *

Raelif had made them some more tea, and it was only once the hot drinks were made and placed in front of them that the demon elder began to tell them what he knew. 'You have to understand' he said to them, drawing a deep breath, 'that the demons we know as 'The Scourge' are merely the military wing of a race of pure blood demons.'

Doyle leaned forward across the table, 'just the military wing?' he asked, furrowing his brow in concern, 'y' mean there's more of 'em. More _to_ them than just the pure blood army?'

'Indeed,' Raelif nodded, taking a thoughtful sip of his tea and then placing it gently back down on the table. He glanced across at his children. 'Rief,' he said, 'you and Rayna should leave. You do not need to know such things - we moved here so that our children could leave these nightmares behind.'

'Rayna go,' Rief said. The teenage girl got to her feet - and then stopped, hesitating, when she saw that her brother was not following her. 'I'm not leaving,' the young man told his father.

'I've asked you to leave us in peace.'

'I'm not a child - you don't have to keep things hidden from me.'

'Rief, this isn't about you.'

'No - it never is,' the boy shouted at his father. 'You bring us here - to this island where there's nothing to do and nothing works, we live like it's the stone age - all so we can hide from demons that hate us and humans that are afraid of us, and you just want us to accept that. You might have saved our lives bringing us here - but they're not worth living. We at least deserve to know why you decided _this_ was better.' He waved his arm around to encompass everything inside the primitive little hut. 'You can't just not tell us because you're afraid of what we left behind. I'm old enough to know,' he finished up.

Doyle and Cordelia exchanged an uncomfortable look. Rayna still hovered awkwardly by her chair. Rief was glaring angrily at his father. 'Look, bud,' Doyle cleared his throat, 'if The Scourge ever made it to this island, they'd kill the kids - no matter how young they were. We need to know everything you know - and maybe it's time Rief and Rayna heard as well, they've had their whole lives turned upside down by The Scourge - they should be given the opportunity to understand why. And, y'know, in generations to come, your people will wanna know how they came to live on Briole - they can't know that if you don't tell the story.'

'We don't want them knowing the story,' Raelif replied. His usual, calm demeanour and even way of speaking had become ruffled, he wasn't showing anger exactly but his mannerisms had become heated.

'But it's their right to know it,' Doyle told him. 'And it's the right of future generations to know where they came from, why they ended up here - it's the story of your people. And in the end, the story will be all there is left. If you don't tell it …' He sighed. 'I recently discovered I'm the last o' my kind. The Scourge killed all the other brachen demons in one o' their previous massacres. I knew they'd killed some...' he shook his head, remembering the tiny, pink sneaker abandoned in the middle of that cold and desolate hiding place.

'I didn't know I was the only one left. But I am. And … I don't know the first thing about the demons I come from. Not one thing. I never bothered to find out. I didn't think it mattered back when I had the chance. An entire race of people are lost - everything about them, gone. It's like they never even existed - except for me - and once I'm gone the world will forget the brachen clan ever even existed. You don't want that for your people, bud, you need to leave behind somethin' - and the way I see that, your stories are a big part o' that. But it has to happen quickly, if you forget the details - or somethin' happens to y' before you pass it on - then there's no way of bringing that back. Your kids deserve to know their own heritage - what The Scourge are and why you brought 'em to this place just to get away from them.'

'Isn't it enough that they were trying to kill us?' Raelif demanded, 'is that not reason enough?'

'But why were they trying to kill us - why do they hate us so much?' Rief cried, 'who are they? I want to know.'

Cordelia took a sip of her tea. She had been watching the whole argument play out, closely, but had stayed out of it - feeling that, as a human, it wasn't really her place to get involved. This was the Lister demons territory, it was Doyle's territory. It wasn't her's. However - they needed to move on, and move on quickly, so it was now time for her to intervene. She put her tea back down. 'Look, mister, I understand this is hard for you - and we kinda sprang on you out of nowhere. But we need to know this stuff _right now_ \- and your kids need to know this stuff someday. You might as well kill two birds with one stone. If The Scourge is really on the move again - we don't have time to sit here and argue about it. Please just tell us what we need to know.'

Raelif hesitated for a moment longer - looking between his guests and his children - and then, with a deep sigh, he nodded his head. 'Very well.' Rayna sat back down and she and Rief leaned forward to listen to the tale.

'As I already said,' Raelif began, 'those that we know of, those we call 'The Scourge' are only one part of an entire demon society. If you think of these demons as a nation state, The Scourge is their armed forces - but as with all people, there are others - those that perform different roles, serve different functions.'

'Are they going to try and kill us too?' Cordelia asked. But the demon elder shook his head. 'No - unless forced to do otherwise - they leave their army to do their killing for them, as does any nation. I only tell you about them so that you may understand the truth - that The Scourge is bigger than you realised, part of something bigger, and you can begin to know what is it their society seeks to do…' He took a sip of his drink, leaned back in his chair and sighed again. 'The Scourge do not live in our world,' he told the small group of listening people. 'They come from a different place - their own place - a parallel dimension of hell and torment.'

'Is it Quortoth?' Cordy asked.

Raelif shook his head. 'I do not know that they have ever given it a name, but it is their world - a place deep beneath our own. It is where they keep their workshops.'

'Workshops?' Doyle asked, blankly, not understanding. 'What workshops?'

'The places where they have their human slaves build their weapons. There are many ways between the two dimensions and it has long been known that other demons of The Scourge's clan kidnap young humans and make them work in their world below. Time …' he paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. 'They say time does not run the same way as it does on earth. It moves more quickly. Much more quickly.'

Cordelia frowned. She held her tea in her hand but was forgetting to drink it as she listened to that tale with rapt attention. 'What do you mean?'

'It is said - I have not seen this for myself - but it is said that a young human being, younger than even yourselves, would live many years and even die of old age before they had spent just 24 hours of earth time in The Scourge's dimension. The Scourge - they take young humans off the street, homeless mostly - runaways - nobody who will be missed inside a day. They take them below, to work on creating their weapons of mass destruction in their hellish factories, and then a day later - when the human is now old and used up, they spit them back out and leave them to die in the streets.'

'And these weapons they have 'em making…' Doyle said, 'they're like the beacon?'

Raelif nodded, 'if the beacon is as you described it, then yes - they have their human slaves forge weapons that will destroy any creature living that contains even so much as a drop of human blood.'

Doyle leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes; seeing, once more, in his mind's eye the vision of his own gruesome death at the hands of The Scourge, shown to him a few years ago by his phony spiritual guide, Skip. His face had melted clean away, leaving nothing but a gaping black hole and then his whole body was gone, and just the echo of his agonised death scream left behind. 'We have to find all these weapons,' he said to Cordelia, 'find 'em and destroy them. It's one thing when they're out there stabbing guys and hitting 'em with axes - but we can't let The Scourge use the beacons on anyone.'

* * *

_Angelus threw William against the wall and held him by his throat. 'Don't touch her,' William cried out, angrily._

'_It's a little late for that, Willy - and I really don't like it when you raise your voice to me.'_

_Drusilla lay back on the bed and pouted up at her sad boy. 'William don't play such a sad tune ... give us a kiss.' _

_William, still pressed against the wall by Angelus, looked between the two of them. His lip was trembling and his eyes were brimming over with tears. 'Why did you? You knew… You knew she was mine.'_

'_Did I?'_

'_Bloody right you did!' Red hot anger seeped through him and he wrenched himself out of the other vampire's grasp, punching him and stumbling away. He turned back and saw his grandsire standing there, with his mocking grin - looking so pleased, so delighted with himself, with the hurt he had caused William. Laughing at William. The rage intensified and he charged at Angelus, screaming. _

_Angelus deflected him easily and knocked him to the ground. Then he hauled him up by the lapels and dumped him on the sofa. After pushing the corpses of the ambassador and his wife out of the way, he sat down next to the brand new vampire. 'Just don't get it now do you? Well, you're new … and a little dim. So let me spell it out to you. There's no belonging or deserving anymore. You can have what your want, take what you want … but none of it's yours.' _

_Drusilla came out of the bedroom and stood in the doorway watching them, still dressed only in her white petticoat. Angelus nodded at her, 'not even her.'_

'_You're wrong,' Spike said, swiping at his nose with the back of his fist. His cheeks were stained with tears. 'We're forever, Drusilla and me.'_

_Drusilla gave a little gasp and clasped her hands right by her unbeating heart. 'Are we?' she asked, sounding delighted but surprised. _

'_Ah - still the poet now, aren't we, Willy,' Angelus mocked. _

'_William,' he corrected, tersely._

'_William - right - you know you really should find a new name for yourself. It just doesn't strike the right note of terror.' He patted William on the knee and then got up and went to stand across the room, beside Drusilla. 'Tell you what, William - if you want her - come and take her.' He wrapped his arms around Drusilla's waist and grinned over at the other man. Drusilla stretched her arms out towards her new boy. _

_William sat on the couch and stared at the two of them. Angelus with his hands all over his Dru - and Dru not caring. Not understanding what they had, the bond they'd made, the promises. He stared into the mocking, leering face of his grandsire - and the rage descended on him once again - and he hurled himself up off the sofa and charged once more._

_..._

As Angel walked towards the cup, Spike launched himself forward - yelling. He collided with his grandsire, punched him hard and under the momentum of his attack they were both knocked to the ground. They scrambled back to their feet - but each had their hand about the other's throat.

Spike used his free hand to land another punch. 'Come on hero,' he said, 'tell me more.' He punched again. 'Teach me what it means,' and again. 'And I'll tell you why you can't stand the bloody sight of me.' He punched him one more time.

Then Angel got in a hit. 'Tell it to your therapist.'

''Cause every time you look at me, see all the dirty little things I've done…' he punctuated each clause with a vicious blow. His knuckles were stinging, bleeding - but nowhere nearly as badly as Angel's face was. 'All the lives I've taken. Because of you! Drusilla sired me - but you… you made me a monster.' He gave Angel one last punch, and then left him to collapse on the floor and headed towards the cup.

'I didn't make you Spike,' Angel choked out from down on the ground. 'I just opened up the door …' he struggled back to his feet, 'and let the real you out.'

Spike stopped in his tracks - no longer headed for the cup. He picked up the large cross, which had burned Angel earlier, and swung it at him, knocking him across the room and back down on his back. 'You never knew the real me,' he said, still holding the cross in his hands - though the smoke was starting to rise from them. He threw it to the side and began to walk towards Angel, treading deliberate footsteps towards the man on the ground. 'Too busy trying to see your own reflection. Praying there was someone as _disgusting_ as you in the world, so you could live with yourself.' He came to a stop and held his arms out wide. 'Well take a long look, hero, I'm _nothing_ like you!'

'No, you're less,' Angel choked out from down on the floor. 'That's why Buffy never really loved you. Because you weren't me.'

Spike sprang forward and hauled Angel up by his lapels. 'Guess that means she was thinking about you … all those times I was putting it to her,' he hissed into his face.

Angel wrenched himself out of Spike's clutches and then punched him, hard, before throwing him across the room. The other vampire landed heavily, smashing some of the props that still lay scattered around the abandoned opera house. They were made of wood - and splinters flew in every direction. Spike grabbed one and forced himself back to his feet - attacking Angel once moire. They exchanged blows, their fists raining down on each other, their faces bloodied and their bodies bruised. Spike stabbed at Angel with his splinter - but only succeeded in getting him in the shoulder.

Angel ripped it out and then glared at Spike. His face vamped out. 'All right - let's finish this.'

Spike vamped out as well - and then they both charged at each other.


	33. Destiny: Part Four

_Part Four_

'There's one thing I don't understand,' Cordelia said, wrinkling her nose up and frowning, as she thought about everything Raelif had told them. 'You say - both of you,' she glanced between Doyle and the demon elder, 'that their beacons kill anything with even just a drop of human blood, right?' Both men nodded. 'But see, I thought all demons were really part human,' she said. 'Pure demons - they're ...bigger. I was at an ascension one time - the mayor of my hometown ascended into being a pure demon. He was a really big snake. The Scourge - what I remember - they were people sized. How come their beacons don't kill them, as well?'

Raelif nodded at her words. 'The demons that exist in this world are all hybrids between human and demon, it's true - but that was not the way it always was. This earth is far older than most humans realise and, contrary to popular opinion, it did not begin as a paradise. For untold aeons, demons walked the earth - pure demons - known as the old ones. They made this world their own private hell, and it was into this world that the race The Scourge came from were born. Back in those times they … they would not have stood a chance, the old ones were beings of great and terrible power and The Scourge would be their foot soldiers - their minions at best.'

'And at worst?' Doyle asked.

Raelif took a deep breath. 'The old ones warred incessantly,' he explained, 'fighting to them was as breathing is to us. Constant. Unceasing. Betrayal was as nothing and death was a sign of weakness. Throughout these wars, many of the old ones died - and many were thrown from this world, to other dimensions. It was the first of the slayers who threw out the last of the old ones from this dimension - though not before the disease of vampirism had spread through the world. The Scourge - being relatively powerless in comparison to other old ones - had long since been banished to a different dimension, the one they now rule.'

'The one where time moves super quickly?' Cordelia clarified. Raelif nodded. 'They are immortal - as all old ones are, so time means nothing to them. But, hailing from a time before mortal creatures - before man - they are pure demon and so their beacons cannot hurt them. Since finding a way back to this earth, they have discovered the mixing of human and demon blood that has taken place in their absence. They are … horrified by it, disgusted by it. To their eyes - all demons are halfbreeds … though they find those such as Doyle particularly offensive.'

'And that's why we had to come here?' Rief asked, 'that's why they want to kill us - because they don't like the way demonkind has evolved in the billion years since they left the planet?'

Raelif nodded again, 'they want to purge the earth of its hybrids, and then of humanity - and then leave their dimension and take the earth back for themselves. They wish for it to be ruled by the old ones once again - only this time, with themselves at the top.'

* * *

Fred carried a glass of water across to Lilah and handed it over to her. 'Here you go,' she said, 'take small sips - It'll hurt for a while. But you're gonna be OK.'

Lilah raised an eyebrow, 'am I?' she asked drily, taking the glass from Fred and taking a sip. Fred looked bemused. 'Well - uh - I mean - no real harm was done, right?' Lilah only raised her eyebrow higher. 'And you're immortal so… I mean you were never in any real danger…'

'I might be immortal - but that doesn't mean I can't die, twinkie. Same as Angel - speaking of whom, he's off seeking the holy grail, whilst we're trapped in here whilst some_thing_ turns mild mannered attorneys into homicidal maniacs, no clue as to what's causing it, how to stop it or even what the common denominator of infection is. So I ask again - am I gonna be OK? Are you? Is Gunn? Do you really think Angel can put a stop to this?'

But Fred nodded confidently. 'Angel will find that cup, drink from it, resolve the prophecy and everything will be fine.'

'And what if it's Spike that drinks from the cup?'

A troubled cloud crossed Fred's face. 'Angel will drink from the cup,' she said again. 'Spike - he doesn't care about … The Shanshu is about Angel,' she said, firmly. 'It's always been about Angel.'

But Lilah only raised her eyebrow one more time, 'has it?' she asked, and took another sip of water.

* * *

The two vampires flew at each other, in full vamp face, hitting and kicking and gouging - a hundred plus years of pent up jealousy and rage and just goddamn irritation being worked out in one massive blow out. Each had hold of a splinter of broken wooden prop, was holding it in reserve to use if it proved necessary. Angel raked Spike across the chest with his makeshift stake, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. 'How's it feel?' he asked.

Spike did the same to him, right back at him, 'you tell me.' He snapped his leg out, again and again and again, kicking Angel repeatedly in the gut. The other vampire staggered backwards and lost his footing. His splinter of wood flew from his hand and up into the air in a graceful arc. Spike kicked Angel's feet out from under him, knocking him to the ground, and then snatched the stake out of mid air. He hauled his arm back - and they both stared at each other for a silent moment that seemed to last just an instant and a hundred years at the same time. And then Spike's face twisted with rage and he drove the stake downwards, right through Angel's body and down to the stage beneath, making the other vampire scream out in pain.

When he stood back up, Angel was still lying there - not just a pile of dust and an unhappy memory - but a full bodied vampire, albeit one blinking and gasping in pain. Spike had avoided the heart - had instead impaled Angel through the shoulder, pinning him to the ground. The vampire features melted from Angel's face.

'I probably should have dusted you,' Spike said to him, changing his own face back, 'but honestly … I don't want to hear her bitch about it.' He turned away and started to walk towards the pedestal and the golden, glowing cup.

Angel grimaced and wrenched the stake out of his shoulder. 'Spike wait,' he called. In front of him, Spike reached out and picked up the cup. 'Wait, that's not a prize you're holding.' Spike rolled his eyes and turned his head to look back scornfully at Angel. Angel continued to plead with him. 'It's not a trophy, it's a burden. It's a cross.' He struggled back to his feet, wincing at the pain shooting through his shoulder as he did. 'One you're gonna have to bear until it burns you to ashes, believe me - I know.'

Spike put the cup back down on the pedestal - and Angel took this as a sign of encouragement to keep talking. 'So ask yourself: is this really the destiny that was meant for you? Do you even really want it? Or is it just that you want to take something away from me?'

Spike glanced back at the cup, then back at Angel and shrugged. 'Bit of both,' he lifted the golden goblet and - before Angel could move, before he could get to him to stop him - began to drink from it.

'Wait! Spike,' Angel launched forward - but he knew it was already too late. His destiny was gone. It had never been his. It had always been a lie - everything he had worked for - it had never been for him. Of course not - how could there be a reward for him after all he had done. He should have known…

Spike had stopped drinking, he had lowered the cup and let it fall from his hands, where it clanged against the floor and rolled away, spilling out the liquid inside. He stared at Angel - his face bewildered. 'It's … Mountain Dew.'

* * *

A heavy silence had settled on the people inside the little hut, as they each considered The Scourge, the army's history - and their own place in the story, the role they were each destined to play. Cordelia glanced across at Doyle, his head was bowed - as if he were deep in thought, and thinking none too pleasant things. She felt her stomach squirm with worry, for him - for what this would mean for him, for them and for their future. There must be a way she could help; ease his burden somehow.

Sure, he was supposed to be The Promised One - but that was a prophecy from four years ago now. The whole world was different now. _She_ was different. Four years ago, she was barely out of high school and only working for Angel to make ends meet. Now she was a slayer. A _slayer_ for god's sake. One of the chosen. That had to mean something. Sure - four years ago, Doyle would have had to stand alone against all the forces of The Scourge - because she would have not been able to help him. But now? There must be something more she could do for him now.

'OK, so,' she said, breaking the silence - everyone's heads came up slowly to look at her, 'we know these guys are old - we know what their deal is … do you know how we kill them?'

But Raelif shook his head. 'Any member of The Scourge,' he said, 'one on one - they are formidable, an ancient machine with only one goal, trained to do this one thing and filled with hatred. But - they are killable, as any physical being on this plane of existence is. But as an army - as an idea…' he shook his head again, 'it will take more than swords to finish them.'

He looked at Doyle, then. 'And if you truly are The Promised One, then they are only back because you did not stop them before - and it is only you who can stop them now, before they take over this world and plunge us all into their eternal darkness.'

The silence descended once more and then Doyle - without saying a word - pushed his chair back and walked out of the little house, walking away to find some place to be alone with the enormity of his own destiny.

* * *

Fred stood by the stretchers bearing Gunn and Harmony, checking on them - they were still out cold, which was just as well as she was no closer to figuring this out. She looked up as she heard Angel walk into the lab, and her mouth dropped open when she saw how bloodied and bruised and beaten he was. 'Angel -' she scurried over to him, 'what happened?'

'I fell down … some stairs,' he winced as he felt the ache in every limb, how stiff and sore he was. 'Big stairs,' he glanced across at where Gunn was strapped down, 'Gunn?'

'We've tried everything,' Fred told him, 'medical, mystical - nothing's stopping it?'

'It's still going on?'

'And getting worse! What about the cup?'

Angel winced again - and admitted it had been a fake. They had been set up. The whole thing had been a set up from start to finish - he wasn't sure who had orchestrated it. But Sirk was the one who had sent them on the wild goose chase, maybe he was …

'Gone,' Spike announced, coming into the lab. 'Cleared out his office and pulled a puff of smoke.'

Fred glanced between the two vampires - noting that Spike was in exactly the same worse for wear state as Angel. 'Stairs, huh?' she asked, wryly.

Angel chose to ignore her. 'OK, Sirk's gone, the cup was a fake, but the madness is real - so what are we gonna do about it?'

'I say we start by untying the brother,' a groggy voice said from over by the stretchers. They all turned to look to see that Gunn was now awake and seemingly himself once more. Beside him, Harmony also came to - she glanced down seeing the restraints that bound her and then looked up at everyone else. 'Am I in trouble?' she asked.

Fred hurried over and began to untie the pair of them. Gunn sat up, groaning and rubbing his face - and then caught sight of the two beaten up vampires. 'What the hell happened?' he asked.

* * *

'The Senior Partners stepped in,' Lilah said. Angel, Gunn and Spike were gathered in Angel's office and she was briefing them on how the madness had suddenly just seemed to stop. 'Apparently they were working on the problem from the moment it started - they don't like being cut off from this plane any more than we like losing them.' She allowed herself a smirk, 'well, they probably like it considerably less - they've put in a whole eternity of effort into keeping things spinning in this little dimension and they don't like to be out of the loop - especially when it means they can't control the whitehats in their own glass house. As soon as they realised the cat was gone - they were busy cooking up a way to get back. It took a lot of time - sewing up a rent in the fabric of the universe isn't a quick job even if you're a higher power - but they now managed to temporarily stabilise the universal equilibrium.' She smiled her shark's smile and clapped her hands, 'go team!'

But Angel was not celebrating, his overhanging brow was furrowed with consternation. 'Temporary?' he asked. 'How long will it last? And what about Sirk and the fantasy he fed us about the cup?'

But Lilah only shrugged, 'Partners don't know anything about it. They're as angry as you are.'

'Really doubt that.'

'Oh come on now, champ sandwich - don't look so down about it,' she grinned again, 'Sirk can only run so fast and so far. We'll hunt him down, bring him in and find out who put him up to it - he looked like a screamer. He'll talk. Now - if you gentlemen will excuse me, I need to go home and ice my neck.' She turned and walked to the door.

Gunn, looking uncomfortable, got to his feet and followed her. 'Hey, listen,' he said to her, catching her up at the door. 'About earlier - I'm really …'

'If you say sorry to me I'll put out your eyeballs with my fingernails,' Lilah interrupted him. He looked taken aback, and she smiled. 'We both know you believe those things you yelled at me when you tried to kill me. Don't demean us both by pretending to be sorry. I know strangling women doesn't fit with the whole hero bio but - hey - you work for the man who cut off my hand. You work for Wolfram and Hart, let them get inside your head and make you different - _you _don't fit the hero bio anymore either. That violence is a part of you and there are some times when 'sorry' doesn't cut it. So just don't bother. Stick around with the two bloodied bozos over there and get cracking on sorting this Shanshu prophecy. Because the sticking plaster the Senior Partners have used to keep this dimension in check won't hold forever.' She flashed him her shark's grin one last time, and then left the office. He shook his head and returned to the two beaten and bruised vampires.

'Ah - man,' he said, 'do you think she's right - that the cosmic Bandaid won't hold? That we'll have to live through another day like today 'cause...I'm tellin' ya,' he shook his head, 'I don't wanna live through another day like today. Another day like today - and there won't be another day.' He sank down onto the sofa, his head was throbbing where Fred had bashed him with the fire extinguisher. She had checked him over and said he wasn't concussed but … he had to admit he felt more than a little concussed. At least he couldn't possibly feel as bad as the other two men looked, whatever had gone down at that Opera House beneath the desert - it must have been heavy. They must have really got stuck into it.

'Yeah … well… meantime,' Spike got to his feet, 'this souled ex ghost vampire has got some corporeal drinking to catch up on. What do you say Charlie boy? Feel like gettin' pissed?'

But Gunn shook his head - and immediately regretted the action. 'No. No. my head feels like it's gonna split open and toss my toys and candy all over the floor.'

'Fair enough,' Spike nodded, 'sounds like your way ahead of me already,' and he walked out of the room.

Angel looked over at Gunn in concern, frowning, 'are you sure you're OK?' he asked, 'maybe you should get Fred to look you over again?' But Gunn disagreed - she'd only want to strap him down again. He sighed deeply and looked over at his boss, 'you OK?' it was his turn to ask. And he didn't just mean because of the cuts and bruises - Angel might look like he'd been through a blender, but he also had super healing abilities. It was his frown, his furrowed brow - more furrowed even than usual - that suggested something deeper than physical pain was worrying Angel.

Angel shook his head, thinking about the honest answer to Gunn's question. 'I don't know.' He thought about everything that had happened that evening at the opera house - about the exact moment Spike had impaled him with the stake, and he had realised he had lost - of the moment Spike had raised the cup to his lips and taken everything from him - his hope, his future, his redemption. 'He beat me, Gunn,' he admitted quietly.

'Who Spike? Looks to me like he got as good as he gave.'

'No,' Angel corrected him, 'he beat me to the cup.'

'You mean the fake cup? The make believe fairy tale cup? So what?'

'No you don't…' he sighed, and wished Doyle were there for him to talk to. He'd get it. They wouldn't even need to talk about it - if Angel didn't want to, Doyle would just know, would just understand. Charles had never done anything so terrible that he could never be redeemed, done something that he himself could never forgive, never mind the universe - his soul was so untarnished he couldn't begin to understand what it was like to stand there and see any chance of forgiveness, any hope of redemption taken from you. And taken from you by a monster of your own creation at that. Doyle would get it. So would Wes. Gunn couldn't - and Angel hoped for his sake that he never would, though maybe coming here made such a mistake inevitable in the end.

'He won the fight, Gunn,' he explained. 'For the first time. Doesn't matter if the cup was real or not … in the end he … Spike was stronger. He wanted it more.'

'Angel, it doesn't mean anything.'

'What if it does? What if it means that … I'm not the one?'

* * *

Cordelia found Doyle out near the beach, sitting on a large, flat topped rock and gazing out at the ocean. 'Hey,' she sat down, slightly behind him, on the rock and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her chin on his shoulder. 'You doing OK?'

He nodded, but he didn't say anything.

'You frightened?' she asked him. He didn't move at all this time - just stayed staring out, unseeingly, into the blue. 'You know it's OK if you are frightened,' she said to him. 'This is big … bigger than big and it's not fair that it's all on your shoulders. You don't have to be brave in front of me, you know? And you don't have to pretend to hold it all together just so you don't upset me. If this is too much for you - you can fall apart - and I'll still love you.' She squeezed him tighter.

He rested his arm on hers', still wrapped about his waist, and squeezed back. 'I can't fall apart though, can I?' he said, ''cause this _is_ all on me. This is the thing I have to do. If I fall apart … there's no one else to get it done. You can't … you can't complete my own destiny for me, Cordy. That I gotta do for myself.' He sighed, deeply. 'Maybe it would have been better if I'd just done it right first time - all those years ago.'

'Don't say that!'

'But maybe it's true,' he suggested. 'I mean, what great thing have I done with my life since I outlived my usefulness anyway? Helped Wes steal a baby, nearly brought about the end of the world by fathering Jasmine - put Kali in a coma and killed countless others bringing her into this world, and now all these demons are dyin' at the hand of The Scourge and maybe they would all be alive and happy if I had died like I was supposed to. Maybe they're dead 'cause I'm alive. Maybe the whole world - the past four years - would have been better if I hadn't been here.'

'My life wouldn't have been better,' Cordelia said softly.

'You don't know that.'

'I do,' she nuzzled closer into his neck, 'whatever was supposed to happen to me - in the version of events where you died - I _know_ I was never as happy as I have been with you, all these years. I don't have to see what happened to know it wasn't as good as what I've had this time around. And I wouldn't give up a single moment - wouldn't change a single moment we've had - not for the world.'

'I dunno - I've put you through the wringer a fair bit, over the years - screwed up.'

'Oh you've screwed up monumentally,' she agreed, 'really epic screw ups that no one person should be able to manage all by themselves and yet somehow you always do.' Her voice became softer again. 'But every single screw up has led us to where we are today, getting married - no secrets, no regrets … and I wouldn't change any of it. '

'But what if this is it?' he asked, 'the end of the line - my destiny coming back to meet me?'

She took a deep breath. 'I don't know who saved you last time around, which higher power gave you to me - let us have this life we're living together. But I know - _beyond a doubt _\- that we have been looked after, had someone up there on our side. And this time around, I have more superpowers than I know what to do with. If any prophecy, or higher power, or legion of doom thinks your time is up, then they're gonna have to get to you through me, first.' She gave him a swift kiss on the cheek. 'I know you feel alone in this, Doyle,' she said, 'I really do - but you were there for me when I became a slayer, and felt all alone - and I'm here for you now. The whole point of marriage is that we'll never be alone again. In anything. Any prophecy written about you, well, from now on it's gonna have to include me too - and vice versa. We're a team - and we can defeat this together.'

'You really think so?'

'I'm Cordelia Chase, dumbass - I know so.' She gave him another soft kiss. 'And this time we're so much better prepared than we were last time.'

He twisted to look at her, 'we are?'

She nodded. 'I've been thinking - now you're The Promised One again - or at least, now it means something again - maybe everything that has happened to you in the intervening years has happened to get you ready for this, give you everything you need to meet it head on.'

'What do you mean?'

She fished inside her bag and brought out the large, dusty book Raelif had been reading from. 'Raelif let me have this,' she said, 'the Lister demon prophecy books are split up by century, this is the 20th century one - so they don't really need it anymore.'

'How is that gonna help us? The Lister demons' prophecies are cryptic - even they don't understand 'em.'

She gave him her biggest, brightest thousand kilo watt smile. 'No _they_ don't,' she said, 'but fortunately - I know someone who is, like, a genius at cryptic crossword puzzles and word jumbles and even understanding the rhythmic structure of archaic writings in ancient languages. He should be able to decode the clues in here in, like, a second. And he just happens,' she broke off to kiss his prominent nose, 'to go by the name,' she kissed him again, 'of The Promised One.'

'Me?' he sounded surprised, 'you think I can understand the ancient prophecies of the Lister demons?'

'I think if anyone can - it's you. I think you absorbed those powers from the Nadrah for a reason, and I think this is it. If there's anything in here that can help us understand The Scourge better, or find a way to fight them, then you - and only you - will be able to understand it. It's what you were born to do. You really are a unique and amazing person, Doyle - with unique and amazing powers and a unique and amazing purpose. There's never been anyone in the history of the world quite like you.'

He chuckled ruefully, trying to downplay her words. 'I think it's fair to say there's never been anyone in the history of the world quite like you, either, Princess.'

'Well, duh! I'm _Cordelia Chase_,' she repeated. They both laughed and, with their arms wrapped around each other, looked back out to sea. 'The boat will be coming back for us soon,' she said, after the lull in their conversation had lasted a few moments. 'We need to be ready - we need to get home and start dealing with this.'

Doyle nodded, 'we should say goodbye to Raelif and the others - and thank 'em…'

'We never did get to say goodbye to them last time around,' Cordy said, as they got to their feet and head back to the small settlement, hand in hand. 'The Scourge arrived in their trucks and we just had to bolt. We should do it properly this time.'

* * *

Angel sat up in his penthouse, all alone, in the dark. He had a glass of blood in his hand and an icepack on his nose. He sat by the large, plate glass window and watched the tiny lights of the city sparkle beneath him, like a carpet of fallen stars. The sight was not bringing him much peace tonight; the memory of Spike lifting that golden cup and stealing his destiny, the sudden gut wrenching realisation that it had never been his destiny to begin with, would not leave him. It did not matter that the whole thing had been a lie, a fool's errand, he still had to live with the knowledge that - when it really mattered - Spike had been able to beat him.

And maybe Spike had deserved it more, it wasn't a lie when the other vampire said that Angel's soul was a curse, whereas he had fought for his. A soulless demon - a monster - had made the choice to be a better man, had fought against his own nature, for love. Was that not what a real champion was? Angel was a champion by accident, Spike had become one through choice. And it wasn't a lie when Spike said that Angel had created him. That all the evil William the Bloody had ever done could be laid at Angelus' door. Perhaps it was only right, only just, that Spike get to take something away from Angel - to make up for everything Angelus had taken from William.

But nevertheless - and no matter how true all this may be - Angel had not realised just how much he wanted that prophecy to be true, until he saw Spike drink from the cup. It was only as he thought he had lost it forever, that he realised just how much he had been leaning on this prophecy - how much he had centred his whole mission around it. And without the prophecy - and without Doyle's visions - there was no mission. Just Angel - the CEO of Wolfram and Hart, signing the contracts, brokering the demon deals and swivelling in his big chair and pretending to himself that he was looking at the bigger picture. The sudden weight of that realisation, descending in his chest, crushing him, would have knocked the breath from him, if he had any. He wanted that Prophecy, wanted it to be true and wanted it for himself. He realised that now - but he didn't know what to do about it. He was still trapped here, at Wolfram and Hart. He was no champion - and had no hope of regaining his cape and tights any time soon. And with all that swimming through his thoughts, it was no wonder he was unable to find his usual peace in the quiet and the dark.

The elevator bell dinged - and the door slid open. Wesley stepped out, holding Connor in one arm and his little bag in the others. Angel got to his feet and took the child out of his friend's arms. 'Hey, big guy,' he said - at last feeling a slight modicum of peace as he was reunited with his child. 'I've missed you,' he kissed the little boy and then took the bag off the watcher, as well.

Wesley frowned when he saw the bruises and cuts on Angel's face. 'What happened to you?' he asked.

The vampire sighed. 'Long story,' he said. 'Bad day - and I'd really rather not talk about it. Though I gotta tell you, you lost a member of your staff today - that British guy, Sirk? He no longer works for the firm. Sorry.'

Wesley raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything - instead giving Angel the lowdown on what he and Connor had got up to during their time away from the office. 'Yeah?' Angel smiled down at his son, 'did you have a good time?' Connor just yawned massively in reply, and both men smiled. 'I guess I'd better get him to bed - thanks for taking him out. It means a lot, that he can play in the sunshine, even if I can't be with him.'

'Not at all, we had a wonderful time.' He took Connor back for a moment and gave him a goodnight kiss, before handing him back to his father, 'well, I'll leave you to it.' He turned to leave.

'Hey, Wes,' Angel called to him, he stopped in his tracks and looked back. 'I was just wondering … about the Shanshu prophecy - about what it really says.'

'What do you mean?'

'Sirk - before he bolted - said reading the translation wasn't really reading the prophecy. Said I might as well have read a 12 year old's book report on the subject - I really didn't like him. But I was wondering - what does it say? In the original Proto-Bantu, what am I missing when I read the translation?'

Wesley nodded slowly. 'Well - I haven't studied it in a long time,' he said, 'not really since we first found it. I can look into it if you want, study it in more detail.'

'Not if you're too busy,' Angel said hastily, 'not if you have more important things to be doing.'

Wesley inhaled, sharply. 'I've told you before, Angel - I don't think there is anything more important than you having hope for the future.'

Angel nodded - and looked down at Connor, falling asleep in his arms. 'But what if it's not my future?' he asked, quietly.

* * *

Sat at home, Lilah took a swig of her whisky sour on the rocks, and held an icecube to her throat. Then she flipped open her cell phone and hit speed dial. She heard her contact pick up. 'Everything went off without a hitch,' she said, 'The Senior Partners are none the wiser, and Sirk pulled off his vanishing act, he won't be found - and if he is found, he won't dare talk. They fell for the whole thing - just like you said - our two vampire heroes chasing off into the desert to hunt down a mystical cup of perpetual torment.' She snorted. 'I'm sad to say they didn't manage to kill each other - Captains Forehead and Peroxide will ride again - but they did beat each other into bloody pulps.'

Down the other end of the line, Lindsey listened to her words and smiled. 'Well, it's a start,' he said.

* * *

**A/N - The next episode is 'Harm's Way' ... but it isn't actually written yet. Which is awkward. It's not _beyond the realms of possibility_ that it might be ready by Friday but - uh - maybe don't hold your breath for it. **


	34. Harm's Way: Part One

**Harm's Way**

_Part One_

As the time on the pink clock flipped over from 6:59 to 7:00, the alarm went off and the radio switched on. A hand snaked out from under the covers and fumbled with the buttons until it found the off switch and the radio went quiet. Then Harmony groaned and rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

Once she had finished showering, she wrapped a pink towel around herself and crossed to the sink. The mirror remained empty, even though she was stood right in front of it. She missed her reflection - that was why she had decorated the mirror with flower stickers and a little motivational quote, to have something to look at whilst she brushed her teeth now she could no longer see her own face. They helped remind her that she was still really there - she had never got used to the blankness of the mirror.

She brushed her teeth, spat out into the sink and then morphed into vamp face so she could take care of her fangs. Then she washed her face - carefully exfoliating her skin. Just because she was dead didn't mean she could afford to get sloppy about dry patches. Once she was done, she headed back out into her bedroom to get dry and dressed. She brushed out her hair and applied her makeup - way difficult now she couldn't see her reflection - and then spritzed her neck with a little perfume.

Then it was time to decide what to wear. She took out two blouses from her closet - a pink and a turquoise - and held them both up, deciding. In the end she went for the pink - and cast the blue one aside. Fully dressed, she sat on her bed and put on her first shoe - a beige, open toed pump. She reached under the bed for the second shoe and found nothing. She tutted in irritation and got down on the floor to peer under the bed. It wasn't there. She crawled around the room, looking, and eventually found it underneath the dresser. It was too far back for her to reach, her arm groped but her fingers closed on only air - so she picked the whole dresser up one handed and grabbed the shoe, before putting the dresser back down.

She got the elevator down to the basement garage. An old lady, still in her nightgown, walked her miniature schnauzer right past her without even glancing up. Harmony smiled and waved, 'morning Mrs. Jacobi,' but the old lady didn't reply and the dog only growled at her. Harmony frowned, it was like Mrs. Jacobi didn't even realise she was there - and the dog hated her. It was like she was dead … which she was, of course. But she wasn't - you know - _dead_ dead - she was still there! The occasional 'hello' shouldn't be too much to ask for. Even the stiffs six feet under sometimes got visitors and flowers. It was like she was as invisible to Mrs. Jacobi as she was to the mirror.

...

An hour later, she arrived at work; coffee in hand and Angel's dry cleaning slung over her shoulder. She put her coffee down on her desk, hung the dry cleaning on a hook in her cubicle and took her coat off. Then she picked up Angel's #No1 Boss mug and headed for the staff room. As she entered, she bumped into a young woman just leaving - their collision caused the woman to spill her coffee all over her smart clothes. The woman looked supremely irritated: 'hey!'.

'Oops! Sorry' Harmony said, but the woman just shook her head and stalked off.

'So then at 2 am my boss calls me,' two women were sat at a table comparing notes on the unreasonable absurdity of their respective bosses, 'wants me to search her car for - get this - a stray vicodin!'

'Shut up!'

Harmony approached them, a big, friendly smile on her face. 'Hello fellow grunts.'

The first woman looked at her for a moment, 'hey', but her tone and expression were unwelcoming. Then she turned back to her friend, ignoring Harmony completely. 'I mean, making me drop off her stool sample was one thing, but this? I'm asking for a raise.'

'Yeah!' Harmony agreed, enthusiastically, trying once more to interject herself into the conversation. 'You know, I was thinking I've been due a raise too, 'cause….'

'Did I tell you that cute new shaman has been put in my department now?' The second woman cut across Harmony's words, speaking only to her friend. Harmony fell silent, and then backed away in defeat. 'Right … nice chatting with you, too.' The two women didn't even so much as look up.

Giving up the attempts to be friendly, she went over to the fridge and opened it up. There were two thermoses sat side by side, one covered in unicorn stickers and the other with a label on that read, 'Angel's do not touch.' She picked up Angel's thermos and poured its contents into the #No1 Boss mug, then took his mug o' blood over to the microwave.

The microwave was already in use, a blue bowl was spinning around inside heating up someone's, like, oatmeal or whatever. She didn't care. Angel got cranky if his blood was late - his needs came first. She opened the door, took out the bowl and put the mug inside instead, pressing the buttons to heat it up to just the right temperature for Mr. Grouchy Pants.

'Hey!' Lorne's assistant - Dan - came over to her. 'Morning,' she smiled, though his 'hey' had not been a friendly greeting - he had sounded as annoyed with her as everyone else had this morning.

'You can't just…' he pointed at the microwave and at the bowl, 'there are rules!'

'Oh I know, it's so unfair,' she agreed. 'The way my boss is your bosses boss - his needs coming first and all.' The microwave beeped and she took the mug out, smiled and shrugged, 'see ya.' She walked out of the staff room - Dan glared at her the whole time.

...

Back at her desk - the boss man, himself, was waiting for his blood. She handed it over and started to update him on everything she had done for him so far today. 'So you've got your meeting with department heads scheduled for 11. Your one o'clock with human - sorry non-human - resources has been pushed back to 2. I swung by the cleaners. Zippo luck getting out the Frophla slime. Oh and I took care of the catering for the big, feuding demon clan confab… unless you have any requests?'

'Achite vong mochzinite,' Angel stuttered uncertainly, and then made a series of clicks with his tongue. Harmony wrinkled her nose. 'Yuhuh … could you spell that?' But he didn't answer - instead he ripped an earpiece out of his ear - the tinny voice of a language instructor could be heard coming out of it. '_Greetings your eminence - may I take your staff? Lopenghote Vong click click click.' _Angel stopped the tape and wound up the wires from his headphones, sighing in frustration. 'My clicks are all wrong.' He shook his head and finally looked at Harmony, 'did you sort out the caterers for tomorrow?'

He hadn't even been listening to her! '_Hello!_ I just..'

'You ready to do this?' Gunn approached the desk - and Angel - cutting Harmony off mid sentence. The two men walked away, headed for Angel's office. Harmony got out of her chair and chased after them. 'So about the - uh - catering? I really went above and beyond because I know this …' but the men ignored her and the office door swung shut in her face. She nodded to herself, biting her lip. 'You're welcome,' she said quietly and walked back to her desk.

She was just getting down to work on her computer, when she was interrupted by a man in a lab coat, 'you're up today,' he told her.

'Oh come on, Rudy,' she protested, 'you know I've been off human blood for months.'

'Company policy, you know the rules. Give me your finger.'

She got back to her feet and held her finger out so that Rudy could take a blood sample. The phone rang, and she picked it up with her left hand. 'Good morning Wolfram and … ow!' she cried out as she was pricked with the needle. 'I'm sorry,' she said into the phone and listened to their request. 'Wrong extension,' she told them. 'You need 529 for curses. Foiled again, huh?' she chuckled at her own joke - but the voice down the line didn't join in. There was only dead air. 'Hello?' She hung up the phone just as the blood test results came through on Rudy's device. 'You're clean,' he said, 'have a good one,' and walked away.

She sat back down, as yet another person approached the desk. This one was a demon, with red skin and curling horns. 'Eli, hi!' she greeted him enthusiastically.

He smiled at her, 'hey … you. I just got called up for a meeting with your boss man.'

Harmony glanced down at her schedule, she hadn't seen anything like that pencilled in for today. But Eli wasn't listening to her. 'Don't wanna count my hatchlings,' he said to her, 'but I think the honchos are finally beginning to recognise my work in accounting.'

'Hey, good for you!'

Angel's office door opened and Gunn stepped out, 'Eli, come on in,' he said.

'Wish me luck, kiddo,' Eli said to Harmony, as he followed Gunn through the door. Harmony grinned and stuck two thumbs up at him - and the door swung close behind the men and Harmony was left alone once more.

That was when she noticed the #No1 Boss mug still sat on the desk. She sighed - the blood would be getting cold. And Angel was so unreasonable - he would totally blame her for the fact that he left his breakfast lying around and didn't drink it whilst it was warm. Whatever was going on in the office- it couldn't be so important that she couldn't deliver Angel his blood, not when it was her who would get it in the neck once the blood was cold and Angel was peckish and cranky. She picked up the mug and walked across the lobby, pushing the door to the office open, 'Angel you forgot your…'

Angel swung an axe and Eli's head was cleaved clean from his shoulders. It bounced on the floor and rolled along the ground, coming to a stop at Harmony's feet. She stared down at it in horror, and then up at Angel who was still gripping the now blood stained axe. 'Clean that up, would you?' he said to her.

* * *

Doyle sat alone in the office, a cup of coffee in one hand, turning the brittle and yellowing pages of the leather bound Lister demon prophecy book. Cordelia was out at another photo-shoot - catalogue work this time. It was good that she was getting work, Lord knows they needed the money, but Doyle missed her every day she was gone; the office was too quiet and the work too boring without Cordy there to make it more fun. Not that she could help him with this particular problem, trying to decipher the vague clues and hints that made up Lister holy text, but it was still better when she was around. The writings were interminable, and making his head hurt, and he could really do with one of her unique brand of pep talks to keep him going.

He took a sip of coffee, turned the next page and then forced himself to squint down at the tiny writing, 'concentratin',' he muttered to himself, 'I'm concentratin'... real hard. Concentratin' concentra_tion_. To concentrate. That's me. Doin' the whole … concentration thing, yes sir - I am payin' attention.' He turned the next page and stared. 'I'm not payin' attention,' he finally admitted.

He sighed, leaned back in his chair and clasped his fingers together behind his head. 'I need to be concentratin',' he muttered to himself. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. 'This is life and death stuff, I gotta be ready, I gotta focus - even though the print is really tiny and the language really weird and none o' it makes sense. I gotta do this.' In the blackness behind his eyelids, he conjured up a picture of Cordelia in his mind's eye. She was frowning at him.

'I mean it's fine,' imaginary Cordelia snapped at him. 'You can sit here and not take this seriously, not bother using your superpowers _specifically gifted to you so you could do this very thing_, I mean it's only life and death. No biggie. It's only you that's gonna die if you don't do this properly, Little Irish Man. Leave me all alone. To grieve. Forever. But hey - it's your choice. Maybe once you're gone, I can just marry _Angel _in your place...'

His eyes snapped back open, 'yep, that's done it,' he muttered, 'thanks, Princess.' He rubbed his eyes and went back to peering blearily at the text. He traced his finger along the words, his lips moved slightly as he read, and he tried to blank his mind - get it into the zone so his powers would kick in without his own normal brain power slowing them down and dragging them back. That was the key to this, to let it happen subconsciously. That was how it had worked with the false prophecy about Connor and the Dactylic Hexameter. And how it had worked with the runes and pictograms that the Svea priestesses had written in an attempt to banish The Beast. And it was how he solved the word jumble every morning. Before he had these powers, it could keep him occupied for most of the day - now he could complete it in seconds.

He was only scanning for mentions of The Scourge, or anything that could be an oblique reference to them. He had a pad and pen ready to scribble down anything he found. His finger continued to trace line by line, his eyes glazed over and little by little he felt his own thoughts go quiet and take a back seat, as the power absorbed from the Nadrah demons took over. His finger suddenly came to a dead stop - as if by itself. It was hovering above the word '_ancients_,' he took a deep breath and went back and read all the surrounding words.

_For surely shall come the day when The People must flee before the ancients, else perish instead. As did those of our kind that live amongst the treetops and those of our kind that dwell beneath the sandy banks. _

The date in the margin dated this prophecy from 1792 - though whoever the long dead Lister who wrote it was must have known, somehow, that it was a revelation meant for the 20th century, to put it into this book rather than the 18th century text. The writing was fading, and the script was curling and difficult to read. But, nevertheless, Doyle knew he was reading it right.

And, furthermore, he understood it. It was obvious.

The first letters of the phrase 'The People' were capitalised, it was being used as a proper noun not a common one - and therefore must refer to the Lister demons themselves. After all this was their holy writings, of course they would name themselves as being the true 'people'. And 'the Ancients' was just another way of saying 'the old ones', and - as all the other old ones were either dead or banished - in this context 'old one' must refer to The Scourge. So … roughly translated, one day the Lister demons would either have to run away from The Scourge or die at their hands. Which, of course, was a reference to that night four years ago; with the truck, and the Quintessa and Cordy and Doyle's mad getaway drive to freedom.

So that was that - and that was obvious. And unhelpful. He looked at the next sentence.

_As did those of our kind that live amongst the treetops and those of our kind that dwell beneath the sandy banks._

Doyle felt sure - though he didn't really understand how - that the words 'our kind', did not refer to more Lister demons. They had talked of themselves as 'people' - if they were referencing more Listers in this extract then they would have written 'those of our people.' No … 'kind' meant other types of demons. He just knew it. Earthbound demons - hybrids in The Scourge's eyes. Demonkind as opposed to humankind.

'_Live amongst the treetops…' _demons that lived in … with a jolt he realised that this passage referred to his own species, to the Brachen clan. The prophecy was saying if the Lister's did not run then they would die, just like the Brachen's had died - and that meant ... their massacre was preordained.

He closed his eyes, feeling the blood pounding in his ears as the realisation washed over him. It was preordained that he would send his relatives away, refuse to help them and so allow them to be killed. Because that was what led to him gaining the visions, which was what in turn gave him the power to be The Promised One. If he hadn't turned those Brachen demons away, he wouldn't be who he was now - and the Lister's had known - if not understood - that this was going to happen since … he squinted at the date in the margin again … 1792.

He felt funny. His head felt like cotton wool and his knees were all wobbly. He needed to sit down - but was already sitting down. 1792. His betrayal of his people had already been a certainty in the universe since nearly 200 years before he was born. It made his head spin. And then, behind the wobbly, dizzying, spinning feeling came a sudden, red hot surge of anger.

It was the kind of anger he'd felt back in his early demon days, an anger he hadn't felt for years now, at the unfairness of what had happened to him. It wasn't fair. The universe had decided it needed a halfbreed, to screw up - throw his life away and allow half his family to be killed, in order to punish it with the visions and send it on a one way mission of atonement, so it could die protecting a whole load of others. So it could be The Promised One.

The universe had decided that's what it wanted - _200 years ago _\- and then it had bided it's time. For two centuries. And then it had sent his demon father to Ireland, where he had forced himself on a human woman and so created Doyle - the halfbreed - who had no choice but to follow along the path the universe had preordained for him; every screw up, his lost marriage, his alcoholism, his life of crime, his rage and his guilt and his shame - all preordained to turn him into exactly what the universe had needed him to be. Doyle had never stood a chance. Not since _1792_.

His head swam. He wanted a drink - but this wasn't the old days, he didn't keep liquor in the office anymore and he didn't trust his legs to get him downstairs to the apartment. He wished Cordy were there, so he could just curl up against her and wallow - and rage … but she wasn't.

And turning his rage on Cordy, making her watch as he lost control like that … that was what he had done to Harri. That was how he had screwed up his first marriage - his unrelenting anger at the unfairness of his life. It _wasn't_ fair, he took a deep breath … but then nobodies was. It wasn't fair for Harri that she lost her husband, the man she loved, to his own anger and his drinking problem. It wasn't fair on Cordy - or all those other girls - turning them into slayers, changing their lives overnight, handing them a destiny they didn't want and didn't ask for. It wasn't fair for Rief and Rayna stuck on Briole because there was no place for them in America. And it wasn't fair for all those people, butchered down alleyways by The Scourge - Xandra and Arnie and Mahatmik and all the rest. 5 years lost in Pylea wasn't fair on Fred, and losing his sister wasn't fair on Gunn, being abandoned by the team and betrayed by Doyle hadn't been fair for Wesley and getting trapped at Wolfram and Hart wasn't fair for Angel. Even Spike - he'd saved the world and now he was a ghost - that wasn't fair. Not by a long shot.

So … sure… he took a few more deep, calming breaths and willed himself to be more reasonable, less self centred. He had been screwed. Royally and big time. But then - who hadn't been screwed one way or the other? Getting angry at the unfairness of it all wouldn't change anything, wouldn't solve any problems - wouldn't get the universe off his back. No it wasn't fair he had this job to do, but nevertheless he had to do it - and whining about it wouldn't make it go away. He had to work the problem, his feelings didn't come into it. He had to accept that. It was pretty much what he'd tried to tell Cordy when she was struggling with being the slayer. It was what it was - and you could either cope, or you could drink. And - after all these years - he was finally able to cope.

He took another deep breath and rubbed his face. OK - so the massacre against the Brachen demons - his own people, though it still felt funny to think of them as that - was preordained and mentioned in Lister Prophecy. And he was the only one left, apparently, and he knew nothing about Brachen demons - nothing that could help anyway. But, the prophecy also mentioned another massacre '_our kind that dwell beneath sandy banks'. _Well, whoever they were … maybe there were some of them left. And maybe, if they were mentioned in Lister Prophecy in relation to The Scourge - maybe they had some prophecies of their own that could help.

He nodded grimly to himself, pushed all ideas of destiny and fairness firmly out of his mind, flexed his fingers and then began a search on the demons demons demons database.

* * *

Harmony was back at her desk, fighting back tears, as Gunn and Angel stood over her. Across the lobby two men were bagging up Eli's headless body and carrying him out. 'I just don't get it,' she said, 'why'd you kill Eli?'

'Didn't much care for what he was doing in his off hours,' Angel told her tersely.

She frowned, 'well, that's not right. What Eli got up to on his own time…'

'Is dismembering virgins,' Gunn told her.

'Well…' she frowned deeper, 'a person's religious beliefs…'

'He did it for his own amusement.'

'Oh - well - OK. But … couldn't you have given him like a stern warning first or something?'

But Angel shook his head, 'it's called a 'zero tolerance' policy not a 'maybe just this once' policy. Nobody in this office gets away with murder. Not any more.'

Harmony bit her lip and looked down. Sure - what Eli had been doing was wrong but … maybe Angel was just a little too happy to get his axe out? It's not like people weren't trying - but this was a place of evil, it took a lot to - you know - stop being evil, and they didn't all have fancy souls like the boss. It was harder for the rest of them. Shouldn't he cut them some slack - it's not like going against your entire nature was a walk in the park.

As she was still brooding on Angel's chop first policy, the rest of the team - the other bigwigs of Wolfram and Hart - turned up for the scheduled 11 o'clock. Lorne looked over at where Eli was being carted off. 'Position just opened up in accounting?' he asked.

Gunn nodded, 'hardest part of the job - terminating an employee.'

'Once again, keeping corporate America safe from evil.' They all turned, at the sound of this new voice, to see Spike swaggering towards them, his grin in place - looking highly amused at the dead accountant being carried away out of the lobby.

'I was wondering when you'd turn up,' Gunn said to him.

'Where have you been - it's been days?' Fred asked.

His smile became softer. 'Out enjoying freedom from my ghostly confines, love,' he told her.

'There haven't been any side effects since you recorporealised have there?'

'Bit of a hangover,' he admitted, 'but then it's only to be expected what with all the drinking.' Fred giggled. 'Anyway, I'd thought I'd swing by and say my final farewells,' Spike told the whole team. 'Figured I'd push off … seeing as how I got someone waiting for me.' He eyeballed Angel, who rolled his own eyes and tutted.

'I'm not sure that's wise,' Wesley counselled, 'considering the Shanshu Prophecy is still unresolved.'

But Spike was done with it - Angel was welcome to his heroic destiny, whether he deserved it or not. Spike had better things to do than sit around waiting for the four bloody horsemen. He began to walk away. 'Spike…' Wesley called after him, but Angel shook his head, 'let him go,' he said. Seeing the back of Captain Peroxide, whatever it meant for the Shanshu, was going to come as a welcome relief. As far as he was concerned, Blondie Bear couldn't get out of here fast enough.

But sadly, Spike was not gone yet - and instead of walking out, he turned back to his old grand sire 'yeah - here's the thing, I could do with some walkabout money - how 'bout a couple of hundred?'

'How 'bout no?'

'You miserable sod - alright - I'll settle for some wheels.'

Angel sighed - if it got him out of here faster … 'just not the Viper,' he warned.

'Right then, Viper it is,' Spike grinned. Angel rolled his eyes again and turned to walk back to his office. 'Any messages for Buffy?' he heard William the Bloody Irritating Git call after him. 'Tell her you're a moron,' he yelled back - and walked into his office without looking back. Wes and Gunn followed him in.

Out in the lobby, Lorne wished the vampire a Bon Voyage and told him not to be a stranger, before heading into the meeting. Then it was just Spike and Fred. 'Fred…' he said softly, smiling the sincere, quiet smile that he reserved only for her in this place. 'I want you to know - all that work you put in - trying to cure me of the ghosties…'

She smiled bashfully and looked down, 'I didn't do anything.'

'No you did,' he told her earnestly, 'you believed in me … I won't forget it.'

They smiled at each other for a moment, quiet and sincere and heartfelt, and then she walked away. Spike turned to leave, walking past the front desk and not even glancing at Harmony. 'What?' she choked out, as he walked past her blithely. He came to a stop and looked at her, puzzled. She sniffed, and had trouble stopping the tears. 'I don't get a goodbye just because I went crazy and tried to rip your throat out during sex?'

'Keep it simple, Harm. It suits you.' And he walked away, leaving her alone to her tears.

* * *

It hadn't been much to go on, but after a few minutes of searching words like 'sand', 'river' and 'burrows' Doyle had managed to get a hit. The Fluggler clan were a group of pink skinned, spiny demons with hands that were more like shovels, or the front paws of a mole, who lived along the banks of the Colorado river, well - more strictly - beneath them, out in the Sonoron desert; just north of Yuma, Arizona. And - according to their entry on the database - many of them had been slain in a massacre back in 1998. Many - but not all. This looked promising. Not for the massacre victims, admittedly, but there was a good chance that this was the clan the Lister demons had referenced in their prophecy. He just needed to find some living family members.

He reached out for the phone and dialled Vito's number, the Lubbock demon who ran Doyle's poker ring. If anyone knew of any Fluggler demons in town, it would be Vito - he knew everybody - and was on good terms with most of them. He heard his contact pick up on the other end of the line, 'hey, Vito,' he greeted him, 'it's Doyle.'

'Doyle. You find out who's been killing off my poker ring yet?' It had been Vito who had come up with the number for Xandra's family, and who had given the Irishman more info about the other deaths going on around the city. Doyle had promised him that he and Cordy would sort it out.

'Yep,' he nodded his head, though he couldn't be seen, 'it's…' He hesitated before naming them - he didn't want to cause a panic in the demon underworld. Or tip The Scourge off that Angel Investigations was on the case. 'It's bad,' he said instead, 'really bad - you need to get word out to every demon you know, and every demon they know - lie low. Get outta town if they can.'

'You said you were gonna sort it.'

'I'm workin' on it - but until then, safety first, yeah? Get the word out. Listen...' Doyle swapped the receiver to his other ear and leaned back in his chair, 'I'm lookin' to make contact with someone right now - it's to help out with … all this. Could be vital. Can you help me?'

'What is it you want?' Vito asked him, sounding wary.

'I was wonderin', do you know if there are any Fluggler demons in the city?' Doyle asked, 'and if there are - you know how I can get in contact with 'em?'

'Flugglers?... yeah - I know a couple of Flugglers. They moved here after their clan was killed a while back. Real nervy types.'

'Great - you got a number?'

'Lemme check.'

Doyle waited with baited breath as he listened to the distant sounds of Vito leaving the phone, crossing the room and then coming back. Then he heard the sound of pages turning. Vito must be looking through his book. Doyle had one just like it - though, time was, he had been dodging half of the people in there because he owed them money. But Vito knew everybody and got along with everybody - his book would prove more helpful than any contact list Doyle could scrape together.

Sure enough - after a minute or so - Vito was back on the line. 'Uhuh, I got a Fluggler - name of Sammael.' He read out the number and Doyle scribbled it down hastily on his pad. 'Thanks, bud I owe y',' he said once he had got the details.

'Uhuh - remember what I said about these guys. Real nervy.'

'Well, havin' your whole clan killed will do that to y'. I'll go gentle - thanks again.' He hung up the phone, went to pour himself another coffee and then sat back down and perused the phone number. Then he reached out and dialled once again.

* * *

The team were sat round the table in the conference room, whilst Harmony perched on her chair in the corner and took the minutes. Gunn was filling them all in on what was to come. There was a demon war going on - two clans, the Vinjis and the Sahrvin, had been battling out for five generations. Before that they had gotten along OK - shared a few hundred miles of desert, traded livestock, even partied together on the odd occasion. But then a Vinji used the wrong fork at a Sahrvin bonding ceremony, the Sahrvin's took offence, and they'd been slaughtering each other ever since.

Fred looked surprised, 'all this started over a fork faux pas?' Gunn nodded. They were pretty finicky when it came to manners. But all the clans had agreed to negotiate a truce, at Wolfram and Hart, tomorrow.

'Why now?' Fred asked.

'Demon activist by the name of Tobias Dupree got involved,' Gunn told them all. 'He's liaison to both clans. Only guy in the world they all trust, and he called us for help.'

Wesley nodded slowly, he held a printout out of customs and beliefs of the tribes and was reading it with an ever higher raised eyebrow. 'Etiquette aside, the Vinji and the Sahrvin are notoriously vicious, why not let them wipe each other out?'

'Hey, I got no love for these guys,' Gunn explained, 'but we manage to push through a peace plan and the whole demon world's gonna know we got game.'

Fred frowned, 'well that makes sense, in a grey, Machiavellian sort of way.'

Angel frowned at her words, as well. Grey - it was always shades of grey here. This was just one more example, but he had to go along with it for some unknown greater good - some cosmic game he was playing, though he didn't know the rules. Though he said nothing of what he was thinking. 'Obviously both clans are sensitive to the smallest slight,' he said, instead. 'If we don't dot an i or cross a t then this whole thing could explode in our faces.'

Wesley was inclined to agree - he was still reading the printout and felt it would be best if everyone memorised the whole lot. Apparently, gazing at a Vinji's ankles could lead to eye gouging. Everyone stared down at their own copy of the list, eyes bulging as they saw how much there was to remember.

Lorne's assistant - Dan - appeared in the doorway, clutching a printout of his own - and hovered nervously. Lorne called him, smiling encouragingly. 'He gets a bit shy in front of the big boss,' he explained, 'that's it Dandito, all the way in.'

'I - uh - finished that seating chart,' Dan told Lorne, handing his piece of paper over. Lorne took it, glanced at it, grinned and then handed it across to Angel. 'Alright, he was up all night jigsawing where everyone is gonna sit for this little shindig, he's a real up and comer this one.' Dan blushed and left the room.

Fred started explaining about how her team had upgraded the weapons scanner - after the incident at Halloween with Sebassis and his entourage getting in fully armed - they didn't want to take any chances. Then Gunn told them all he would be doing the talking. No one in the clans spoke any English - but, along with the Gilbert and Sullivan - he had been given a whole load of demon languages along with his legal upgrade.

Angel and Wesley exchanged a dark look at that news - but neither of them said anything. 'So, aside from forks, ankles and us not knowing what they're saying … any other potential minefields?' Fred asked.

'All their etiquette issues go along with a huge dose of superstition,' Angel informed them all.

Harmony suddenly looked excited and leaned forward in her chair, speaking up at last. 'You don't know the half of it,' she told them, enthusiastically. 'I've been doing a whole load of research on these guys - their customs and stuff? Did you know that they think poodles are, like, wicked bad luck?'

'Harmony, I'm glad you're here,' Wesley said. Harmony smiled proudly and sat up even straighter. 'We'll need lunch,' he told her. She deflated.

...

Once she'd ordered and served them lunch, received very little in the way of thanks, and not been given an opportunity to share with them all the oodles of stuff she had learned ready for this summit, she made her way back to the staff room to have her own lunch. She took out the unicorn covered thermos and sat at a table, drinking her blood, alone.

At the very next table, the two women from earlier were talking as they ate together - she could hear every word from where she was. 'Burkle's always giving Mr. Gunn the eye,' one of them said. 'Heard they used to be a thing.'

'I don't know. Alice said she and that Knox guy are pretty friendly,' the other one said.

'Maybe she's sleeping with both of them!'

'That's what I'd do.'

'Don't forget about Wesley,' Harmony couldn't contain herself anymore, and she interrupted their conversation to give her own take on the hot office gossip. 'There's something freaky going on with that Lilah chick and him, but at the same time, I get the vibe that he's, like, totally crushing on Fred.'

'Mr. Wyndam Pryce?' one of the women scoffed in utter disbelief, looking at Harmony like she was something stupid she had just discovered on the bottom of her shoe. 'Everyone knows he's … muffins!' She interrupted herself when she saw Dan come in carrying a large wicker basket filled with sweet treats.

'They're from Lorne,' he told the others. 'Well, actually, they're from Shaq, but Lorne has declared his office a carb free zone so…'

'He's totally grooming you,' the woman said.

'You think? He does call me Dan the man…'

'Angel grooms me too,' Harmony blurted out. There was an awkward pause, that hadn't come out quite right, but then she prattled on over the top to cover the moment. 'I'm his right arm. He's taking me places.' Her cell phone began to ring, she glanced down and saw his name on the screen, 'we're so connected.'

She answered the phone - and as soon as she did, he began yelling down the line at her - she could only hope that the others couldn't hear … although their faces suggested that they could. She fixed a big grin on her face. 'Uh sure,' she gabbled, getting to her feet, 'no, no trouble at all. That's what I'm here for. Bye.' She hung up the phone and rushed out, feeling the smirks and laughs of the other workers following her from the room.

...

When she got back up to the lobby, she found Angel standing in the middle of it, his hands on his hips and a very dark glower on his face. The caterers had arrived - and it seemed Angel wasn't happy about it. 'Harmony - do you wanna explain this?'

'OK - this is totally my fault,' she admitted, hoping to smooth things over. 'I specifically told the caterers that the delivery was for tomorrow. But I should have called to confirm … you know caterers - not the best listeners.'

The elevator opened behind them, and Fred stepped out reading the list of customs and manners, still trying to memorise it. She glanced up and then gave a startled cry as she came face to face with the delivery.

'Harmony got us a _camel_,' Angel explained to her, through gritted teeth.

'Uhuh,' Fred stared up weakly at the massive, living camel standing placidly in the lobby, chewing the cud.

'Like I said,' Harmony cut in, trying to explain. 'I did a lot of research. Camel meat is like a delicacy. So I thought it would be a great way to kick off the summit. 'Cause of the clans being so uptight? … like comfort food.'

'Comfort food,' Angel repeated.

'Yuh huh. And as host, you get the honour of slicing off its hump and sticking a hot poker through its heart. And then the demon clans rip its carcass apart with their bare hands,' she said enthusiastically. She was proud of how much effort she had gone to, and how much she had managed to learn about these warring clans in a short space of time. She'd surprised herself, she'd never been one to look stuff up and learn stuff from books before. That sort of thing was for nerds. But she'd been good at it!

Angel laughed - though it wasn't a happy laugh. 'Are you … I don't even know how…'

'Maybe the camel was the wrong way to go,' Fred said to Harmony. Her voice was kind. Harmony frowned. Something wasn't right - and she didn't know what - because it certainly wasn't the camel. The clans would go nuts for this.

'Harmony you are supposed to answer the phones, make appointments and anticipate my needs, which does not include a petting zoo in the lobby.' He sounded furious again.

'OK… but, the caterer said no returns.'

'Get rid of it!' He stormed away.

'Maybe you could go with a nice cheese platter?' Fred said, still keeping her voice kind. But it wasn't enough - Harmony began to cry. 'Or chips and dip! Chips and dip would be fine.'

'I did everything right,' Harmony told her, 'this is what they eat.' She gestured at the camel. Fred turned to look at it, and then turned back to Harmony. 'Angel's just feeling a little off - and he's not in the mood to, you know, butcher a camel.'

'No - he hates me.'

'No!' Fred tried to reassure her, 'he'll get over it.'

'Everybody hates me,' she was still crying.

'I don't!' Fred smiled brightly, 'It's just … I don't know you that well…'

Harmony stopped crying and began to smile, 'what are you doing tonight?' she asked.


	35. Harm's Way: Part Two

_Part Two_

Cordelia had arrived home and the two of them were now snuggled up on the sofa, the lights dimmed, with a glass of wine and a pizza - Tandoori Chicken and pineapple, though Doyle was assiduously picking the pineapple off his and Cordy was taking his discarded chunks and putting them onto her own slices. 'Yum, more for me.'

'You're disgustin',' he told her, seriously.

'What? It's fruit. Fruit is good for you - you could do with eating more of it, little Irish man.'

'I eat fruit!'

She laughed. 'I know they make vodka out of potatoes, but I really don't think that counts as one of your five a day.'

'Hey!'

She only laughed again - and took a big pineapple laden bite out of her slice. Doyle watched her as she chewed. 'So how was today?' he asked her. She nodded her head and swallowed before she could answer, 'good - it was just a mail order thing, beauty products this time, they took lots of close ups of bits of my face. But there should be something there that I can add to my portfolio.'

'That's really good - and uh -' he wriggled a little uncomfortably, 'did they pay y' yet?'

She turned to him, one eyebrow raised, 'why?'

'I gotta meet a contact tomorrow,' he told her. He told her all about the prophecy he'd read and how he'd worked out that it referred in passing to the Fluggler demons. 'So I was hopin' they might have some prophecies o' their own. I got talkin' to one of them and it turns out - they do. I'm meetin' him tomorrow mornin' in some underground car park - I could do with some cash to sweeten the deal.'

'We can afford it,' she told him, taking another bite of her pizza, and then licking some of the cheese and sauce residue from her fingers, 'we've got enough in the bank. You did really well today, finding all that out. You want me to go with you tomorrow?'

But he shook his head, 'Vito says these guys are pretty nervy, might spook 'em if they're just expectin' some demon halfbreed, and I show up with a slayer in tow. I can manage by myself. It shouldn't be dangerous.'

'Well, they're famous last words if ever I heard them,' she retorted.

'I'll be OK.' He took another sip of wine and went quiet. Cordelia watched him for a moment. 'What's wrong?' she asked, when he hadn't moved or spoken for nearly a minute.

He shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts, and drunk some more of his wine. 'Uh … the Fluggler demons weren't the only massacre mentioned in the prophecy,' he told her.

'No?' She kept on watching him. He shook his head again. 'No - it mentioned the massacre of the Brachen demons as well.'

'The one from when you…?'

'Well I think that's the only massacre they were ever subjected to so yeah!'

'Oh Doyle - I'm sorry.'

'The prophecy was written in 1792,' he told her quietly. 'It was foretold I was gonna let all those demons die two hundred years ago. I was destined to screw up two centuries before I was even born.'

'Hey…' she put down her pizza and reached out, stroking his face gently. 'Did it say that?' she asked, her voice was soft and her expression was concerned. 'Did it mention you?'

He shook his head, again. 'No - but that's how it happened. And apparently it was already known it was gonna happen so …'

'So nothing,' she snuggled closer to him on the couch. 'Maybe the universe - or the powers - or whatever - did know, all that time ago, who you were and what you were going to do - but all that means is it's not your fault. They knew already. They could have stopped it if they wanted to. They didn't. That's on them - not you. If they wanted you to let those demons die then … there wasn't anything you could do about it.'

'Prophecies get changed all the time. I could have stopped it - if I'd just known, if I'd understood…'

'But you didn't,' she said, her voice still gentle. 'And there was no way you could have. Everything that's happened - every decision, no matter how lousy at the time - has led us to where we are today. And that's what matters. Now you can beat yourself up about all the things you did wrong in the past - but you can't change it, can't make it right just by holding onto it.' She increased the pressure of her hand, rubbing her thumb softly against the skin of his jaw, and leaned in closer. 'But you can make the future right,' she told him, '- make it better. And that's what you're gonna do. Both of us. We're gonna stop The Scourge once and for all - and the world will be that little bit safer, that little bit better - just because we were here to make it that way. And no 200 year old prophecy can change that.'

'I just feel like I never had a chance, you know? I've done some really terrible stuff in my past and now I feel … like the universe wanted me to do 'em, decided I _had_ to do 'em. That it created me specifically to suffer in ways that suited it, just so that some people would die and some people would live at the right time.'

She nodded her head slowly, and dropped her hand from his face. 'Well I guess it had to happen - it was pretty much inevitable.'

He looked confused, 'what was?'

'Well - being called 'The Promised One' - destined to die so that others could live. But then surviving. And then being called the 'messiah' in Pylea … it was only a matter of time before your head swelled up and you developed a Jesus complex.' She burst out laughing.

He gave her a dark look. 'I don't think I'm Jesus,' he told her.

'Oh, I think you think you are,' she chuckled, 'little bit. Jesus Doyle Christ, our lord and saviour.'

Even he was beginning to laugh now. 'I don't think I'm Jesus!' he protested again.

'Well you better not start wearing his sandals - else the engagement is off - that's all I'm saying.'

'I'll start wearing sandals if I want to. With socks.'

'You wouldn't dare!'

'Keep talkin' and try me, woman.'

'I'll kiss you instead.' She leaned forward, still giggling and brushed her lips against his - but he pulled away from her. 'What?' she asked, a crease appearing between her eyebrows as she frowned at him.

'You taste like pineapple. It's disgustin'!'

She pulled away in mock fury, as he laughed at her. She punched him in the arm and he stopped laughing. 'Ow!'

* * *

Piano music tinkled in the background of the bar Harmony had brought Fred to - it was high up, called the 'Sky Bar' and was very high end. They had ordered cocktails with straws and umbrellas and swizzel sticks, and were talking as they drank them. '... and the worst part is I can't even quit, 'cause I don't have anywhere else to go,' Harmony finished up her tale of woe and then sucked on her straw.

'I'm sure that's not … really?'

She shrugged. 'I tried being out on my own, all independent and evil. I'm just no good at it.'

'Well - that's good isn't it?' Fred asked, 'that's a good thing.'

But Harmony only shrugged - it wasn't like everything was so great now. Fred had heard Angel, Harmony was useless…

'Harmony, that was one mistake,' Fred told her comfortingly, she sucked on her straw, drinking some of her bright green cocktail, and thought about Angel. He was terminally grumpy these days - you just had to take it on the chin. 'He has a lot on his mind,' she tried to excuse his cranky behaviour.

Harmony sighed, 'I just wish I could be more like you,' she said. Fred smiled - pleased. '... Except for that part of being all into science. And not having a lot upfront.' Fred's smile faltered. Harmony didn't notice. 'I mean, you have two hot guys after you.'

'I do?'

'All the girls think it's Gunn and Knox,' she made a scornful noise in the back of her throat, 'but _I _know it's Knox and Wesley. Not that they listen to me… it is Knox and Wes, right?' she suddenly checked.

Fred nodded - and then immediately shook her head. No that wasn't what she meant. They all worked together - there was baggage … 'why am I telling you all this?' she giggled.

'Because we're totally bonding,' Harmony said in delight. 'It's like we're gal pals. This is great - you can teach me all about life and stuff and I can teach you to dress better.'

Again, Fred's smile faltered - but then she grinned again and got back on subject. 'They are cute, aren't they? Knox and Wes? I… wait, why is everybody at the office so interested in who I might be dating?'

Harmony rolled her eyes. 'Because you're at the top! People wanna know what's happening with the big wigs. You'd think they'd ask me but …' she trailed off.

'Why don't they ask you … Harmony, do you not have many friends at work?'

Harmony shook her head. She didn't get it - she'd been way popular in high school. Once Cordelia had started dating Xander Harris and slid out of the cool zone, Harmony had been the queen bee herself, She'd had her own Cordettes - Harmonettes. But then, once she'd been vamped at her graduation, she'd just had trouble connecting with people.

'Well maybe you should try putting yourself out there more,' Fred suggested. 'There's lots of people from work here. You should mingle.'

Harmony twisted in her seat and scanned the room, eyeing up all the Wolfram and Hart employees hanging out there. There was the two women from the staff room, Dan, the woman she'd spilled coffee on earlier … she'd had zero luck with the lot of 'em. 'They're all straight,' she told Fred. 'human,' she clarified, when she saw Fred's confused face. 'I tend to gravitate towards the undead variety.'

'Well maybe that's your problem!' Fred said, 'the undead are not exactly givers. I bet there's tons of … _straight _guys who'd just love to meet you.'

'Well - there is one at the bar,' Harmony whispered. Fred turned to look and Harmony immediately flapped her arms and made her stop. 'Don't look!' she hissed. 'I think he's checking me out.'

'You should go talk to him.'

'Oh no. I couldn't. _I'm hanging with my gal pal_. I would never do that to you.'

'Really, I'll be fine.'

'OK, bye,' she sprang to her feet. Fred looked taken aback at how quickly she'd been ditched. Then Harmony turned back to her, 'what do I say?' she asked.

'Um - just say hi and introduce yourself. I bet he takes it from there.'

'What if he doesn't - take it?'

'Well, questions are always good - ask him where he's from and what he does for a living.'

'Right, cover the boring stuff,' Harmony said brightly.

'Only maybe act like it's not. Boring.'

'I can do that.' She headed on over to the bar. Fred sat alone at the table, playing with her straw uncomfortably. 'Well, um.. I'll just … go.'

...

Harmony approached the guy and sat down next to him at the bar. 'Hi - I'm Harmony,' she said.

'Well, hi Harmony, it's nice to meet…'

'Where are you from?' she said quickly.

'Originally from the bay area but…'

'Uhuh. interesting, what do you do for a living?'

The man smiled - and didn't answer her question. 'Why don't I get you a drink?' he asked, 'you look thirsty.'

Harmony smiled back.

* * *

The time on the clock rolled over from 6:59 to 7:00 and the alarm went off. Harmony's hand snaked out from under the covers and switched it off, then she rolled over - and found the guy from the night before lying in her bed. He was face down on the pillow. She gasped - she didn't remember bringing him home, she didn't get what he was doing … a suspicion crossed her mind and she peeked beneath the covers and gasped again, clutching them against herself. She was naked - and so was he. They must have… She put her head in her hands. 'Uh Tim? … Trevor? George? Apparently you and I … and I'm sure I rocked your world and all, but I need to go to work so ... ' he didn't respond. '_Hello!_' She grabbed him by the shoulder and rolled him over. And that's when she saw how ashen his skin was, the dark circles under his eyes - and the big red bite mark on the right side of his neck. 'Oops!'

* * *

The alarm on Doyle's cell phone started to beep. He'd stashed it under his pillow the night before so as not to wake Cordy when it went off. He was getting up early, to meet his contact, and there was no need for her to be disturbed. He rolled onto his stomach and stuck his head under the pillow so he could see what he was doing to switch it off.

Then he crawled out of the bed and padded silently towards the bathroom. Showered and teeth brushed he towelled off, still in the bathroom, and then snuck back into the bedroom to grab his clothes. Cordy was still sleeping, he hadn't disturbed her. She'd rolled onto her back - since his half of the bed had become vacant - and was starfished in the middle, snoring.

He pulled his clothes on, grabbed his keys, checked his wallet for the cash he was going to give to his new contact and then planted a kiss on the still sleeping Cordelia's forehead, before leaving via the door to the underground garage.

...

This early in the morning, the roads were still quiet and the breeze was fresh and cool as he cruised along the streets. The Fluggler demon, Sammael, had wanted to meet on neutral territory. Vito hadn't been exaggerating when he described this species as 'nervy', it had taken a long time - during yesterday's phone conversation - just for Doyle to get Sammael to admit that yes he was a Fluggler demon and yes his clan had been massacred by The Scourge. It had taken a further ten minutes to get any confirmation on whether or not the Fluggler clan had any prophetic writings of their own - and then had come the hard part.

But he'd managed it, Doyle could be pretty persuasive when he needed to be. He'd explained the situation, as far as it was safe too, explaining that The Scourge were active in L.A and targeting demons once more and that he was researching them in the hope of finding a way to bring their reign of terror to an end. He had left out the information about the Lister demons, or his own destiny as The Promised One; if Sammael was as nervy as all that - and he ever got captured by The Scourge - then having him know too much information would not go well for the good guys. But, even with the redacted version of events he gave, he had been able to - eventually - convince Sammael to meet him, and bring his prophecy books with.

However, Sammael had point blank refused to meet Doyle at his own home, refused to tell him where he lived. And that was fair enough. Doyle was just a disembodied voice at the end of the line, to this guy, there was no reason he should entirely trust that any stranger who happened to seek him out would be entirely on the up and up. He'd also refused to come on down to the office and speak with Doyle there - and again, maybe that was a wise precaution, it could be a trap. Instead, Sammael had insisted on meeting at a location of his own choosing, somewhere quiet and out of the way, and that was where Doyle was headed now.

...

He pulled into the underground parking lot that was his destination and switched off the engine and got out of the car. Across the garage, he saw a dark shape bobbing about uncertainly behind the dumpster. 'Sammael?' he called out.

'Shhh!'

'Sorry,' he lowered his voice to a whisper and walked over to the lurking demon. 'Are you Sammael of the Fluggler clan?'

'You Doyle?' the demon asked nervously.

'That's me.'

'You look human.'

'Half,' Doyle morphed into his spikes, if that would make this demon more comfortable, 'see? Did you bring the prophecies?'

The Fluggler demon came out from behind the dumpster then and Doyle got his first good look at him. He was big - twice the size of Doyle - but his size didn't seem to make him feel any safer. Like in the picture, his hands were like the paws of a mole - shaped like shovels for digging, and his eyes were small and screwed up tightly like a mole's as well. Doyle got the impression that maybe Fluggler demons couldn't see very well above ground.

'Hey, man,' he said to Sammael, 'I really appreciate you agreein' to meet me and all - this could be really important.'

* * *

Harmony had got showered and dressed in record time, trying to keep her eyes averted from the extreme dead person in her bed the whole time. Once she'd coiffed her hair, put on her makeup and put on her most capable looking ensemble - so she looked ready to face the world outside, even if she was quaking internally - she opened her front door the barest smidgen of a crack and peered round. The corridor seemed clear- right.

Slowly, slowly, she edged round the door - ready to bolt back inside at a moment's notice - lugging her suspiciously heavy pastel laundry bag behind her. Well she didn't know how else she was supposed to get rid of the stiff! But he needed to not be in her apartment. If Angel ever found out about this … he'd chop her head off. With an axe. Like poor old Eli.

Her first thought was to take him down in the elevator with her, but the distant barking of a dog told her Mrs. Jacobi must be headed that way - so she scuttled over to the garbage chute instead.

Grateful for her super strength, she hoiked the unwieldy dead weight up and into the opening of the disposal unit, but it was bulky and awkward and wouldn't fit. It was stuck! She tried to shove it into the hole but various … parts were jamming. Maybe it was a rigor mortis thing. Then she heard footfalls behind her, and the yapping that signified the presence of the schnauzer. Immediately, she jumped round, so she was facing the hallway and tried to block the view of the laundry bag with her body. 'Hi Mrs. Jacobi,' she waved, smiling brightly as the grumpy old woman walked past her.

As always, the dog growled at her and the old woman ignored her - though today that was definitely a good thing. The lady and her pet came to a stop by the elevator and waited for it. Harmony stayed still, still smiling and hiding the dead body, until the elevator door opened and the old lady and her dog disappeared inside. She would have breathed a sigh of relief - except for the obvious reason - so instead she went back to shoving the body down the hole. After a bit of wriggling and grunting, something came unstuck and the laundry bag toppled down the chute.

But it wasn't Harmony's morning, as she peered down the chute, watching the body disappear - she saw it hit the side of the dumpster and bounce off, landing on the ground instead. 'Oh crap!'

* * *

Doyle had finally got Sammael to relax a little, to tell him about his people's prophecies and what had happened to them when The Scourge came. It was much the same as happened to all demons when the army of purebloods came for them and Doyle shared his own story of finding his own clan slaughtered, though he glossed over his role in it. Sammael had just handed over a copy of the Fluggler demons' holy texts, when a suspiciously heavy, pastel striped laundry bag came hurtling out of the garbage chute, bounced off the dumpster and fell at their feet.

'What the…' Doyle tilted his head, there was something about the bag - about what was inside it - that didn't sit right with him. He knelt on the ground and started to tug on the drawstring, trying to open the bag up and look inside.

'What are you doing?' Sammael asked him, looking around nervously.

'I'm just .,.' he finally succeeded in pulling the strings apart - whoever had tied them must have had super strength or something - and began to peer in. A human arm fell out. 'Jesus!' Doyle jumped away in alarm - and the sound of running feet told him that this had been too much for the nervy Fluggler, and he was now alone.

Behind him, he heard the elevator bell ring - and he hastily stuffed the arm back inside the laundry bag and scrambled back to his feet, switching back to his human face before he could be seen in his spikes. An old woman and a schnauzer walked past him. He smiled at her, his most affable grin, 'mornin' ma'am,' but she ignored him and the dog only growled.

Once she was gone, he breathed a sigh of relief and then got back to investigating, pulling the laundry bag away from the body so that more of it came into view. It was a man - his skin was pallid, there were dark circles around his eyes and he had a big, red bitemark on the right side of his neck. 'Guess a vampire got you, bud,' he said, sadly, 'but why would a vampire try an' throw you down the garbage chute?'

He was cut off from his musings by the sound of the door to the staircase being pushed open and the clacking of high heels hurrying across the asphalt. Once more, he looked up in alarm - only to find himself face to face with a young woman who looked equally horrified. And then Harmony burst into tears.

* * *

Angel got up early so he could have breakfast with Connor before he sent his son down to company day care and he got on with the day ahead. He made the little boy some toast and gave him a glass of milk and then sat at the table with him, watching him eat. 'What are you going to do today, little buddy?' he asked.

'Mewsum,' Connor told him, chewing his toast and not really paying attention.

'What's that?'

'Mewsum trip. Mewsum - you know, Daddy. Grrr.' He made his hands into claws and growled.

'Oh right, yeah - the Natural History Museum.' The Au Pairs had arranged to take some of their more human looking charges out to the Natural History Museum - the one the team had once broken into - for the day. Connor had been talking about the dinosaurs and the wild animals he would see for days now. 'Guess it's a big day for you, huh?' He watched his little boy carefully eating his toast and licking his fingers, and thought of his own day ahead and felt his heart sink. 'Yeah - me too.'

* * *

'Harmony?' Doyle asked in surprise. He looked down at the dead guy at his feet, 'Harmony, did you…?' He began to back away, thinking maybe it would have been better to bring his slayer girlfriend along with him for the ride after all.

'I don't remember!' Harmony choked out, between her sobs. 'I met this guy at the bar last night - and when I woke up he was in my bed. Dead! And that's it, I swear - I don't remember killing him. And if Angel finds out he'll kill me - it's not fair!'

Her last three words struck a chord with him. Nothing ever was. He was still glancing between her and the body, 'why do you think Angel will kill you?' he asked.

'Because … that's what he does. He has a zero tolerance policy on killing humans - and I wake up with a dead guy in my bed and I don't know how he got there and Angel, you know him, he isn't the type to listen - he's so crabby all the time. Chop first, questions later.'

Doyle watched her, standing there, crying. She was a soulless killer with super strength, but right now she just seemed so hopeless - the type he was supposed to help. And Cordelia would want him to help her old friend, he was sure of it - she had such a big heart. And - when it came down to it - Doyle actually believed the story Harmony was telling him. She wasn't one of nature's big thinkers, he really didn't think she had it in her to come up with a cover story. And if she really had killed this guy - then there was nothing stopping her from killing Doyle either. But she wasn't - she was just standing there. Crying. Which meant she was probably telling the truth.

But above all else, it was her call to the unfairness of her situation that got to him. Yep - life had a way of dropping on you from a great height, and just when things seemed to be going well, as well. That was when the universe liked to drop its heaviest bombshells - and all the little people could do was try and cope. Everything that had happened to him, pretty much since his 21st birthday had been one, giant, cosmic unfairness after another - and he had needed a lot of help from his friends to stay the course, and had still lost his way more than a few times. And now the universe had dropped on Harmony - and he wanted to help her, wanted to have this put right. Maybe her situation was salvageable - though he doubted the same was true for his own - and if it were possible, he wanted to make this little bit of unfairness go away. It would feel like getting his own back on the universe.

'OK, Harmony, calm down,' he said, soothingly - stepping over the body and taking a step towards her. 'I won't tell Angel. I believe y' - and I'm gonna help y'.'

'How?' she tried to bite back her sobs and brought her hands up to wipe away her tears - carefully so as not to smudge her mascara.

'Well - first off, what can y' tell me about this guy?'

'Nothing!' she cried, 'I met him in a bar - I don't even know his name. Oh! He's an astronaut!' She said, as she had a sudden flash of the boring stuff Fred had told her to cover in conversation.

'Really?' Doyle glanced over at the body, 'y'sure about that?'

'It's what he said.'

'Right - well if he's an astronaut he'll have his pass to Coco Beach on him - so why don't you stand guard, and I'll check him for id.'

'Good thinking.'

He knelt down on the hard ground and pulled the rest of the laundry bag away from the dead body, then he frowned. 'Was he dressed when you found him in the bed, darlin'?'

'No - I guess we must have … you must think I'm a total slut.'

'That's not what I'm thinkin', no - so did you put his clothes back on him?'

'Well - duh - I don't want any evidence left in my apartment, what would you have done?'

'I think I might have just stuffed 'em into the laundry bag with him.'

'Oh - right. I didn't think of that.'

'No.' He had his hands shoved inside the dead guy's pockets. The fingers of his left hand brushed against something small, square and cardboard - like a business card. 'Ouch,' he hastily retracted his hand and sucked on his thumb. 'Papercut,' he said, when he saw Harmony turn to look at him. Still sucking his left thumb, to stem the blood, he fished into the guy's jacket pocket with his right hand. 'Aha, wallet,' he said. He brought the wallet out and opened it up.

'Anything?' Harmony asked him - still standing guard - scanning the whole parking garage in case someone suddenly sprang out of the shadows and threatened to denounce them to Angel.

'Uhuh - I think he was lyin' about the whole astronaut thing, love. His name's Tobias Dupree - works here in town, there's an address for him.'

'So what now?'

Doyle got back to his feet, brushing off his hands as he stood back up. 'OK - now, you go into work, act like everythin's totally normal and don't say nothin' to anyone - least of all Angel.' He handed her his business card, 'if you do get into trouble, or y' remember anythin' - just give me a call, yeah? Meanwhile - me and Cordy will go to this guy's place of work, see what we can find out about him. See if he was shady.'

'Why do you think he might be shady?'

He gave her a sympathetic look. 'You have no recollection of what happened last night, but you think you must have slept with him - I think you were drugged, darlin', and if that's the case - someone gave you that drug. Might have been him.'

'Uhuh - and what do we do with the body?'

Doyle scanned around the parking lot - it wasn't so early in the morning anymore, people would be leaving for work, the roads would be busier. 'Actually - I think your first plan is probably our best bet.'

'The garbage?'

He nodded, 'they'll find him at the dump, the authorities will take him, his family will be informed - it'll be fine. But most importantly - there'll be no way of tracing it back to you… your name isn't on the laundry bag is it?'

She shook her head - and together they fought the stiff body back into the laundry bag and then heaved him up into the dumpster. Then Doyle walked Harmony to her car. 'Good luck,' he said to her, as she climbed in, 'and don't panic - I'll ring y' when I know somethin'.'

* * *

Harmony rode the elevator up to the lobby. Her chest felt weirdly empty where her heart should be pounding, she was so nervous. The bell rang, the doors slid open - and she peered out nervously, reluctant to leave the confined safety of the lift. 'OK…' she said to herself, remembering Doyle's advice, 'just act normal.'

She stepped out of the elevator and nearly bumped into someone, she laughed - too long and too loud. 'Hi,' she said, brightly - too brightly, 'how's it hanging? Love the … pocket square.' She gave him a roguish wink. He gave her a strange look - and got into the elevator. The smile drained from her face and she scurried over to her desk; settling into her cubicle much quicker than usual.

Across the lobby, she noticed Rudy - the blood technician - stopping other demon workers to take samples. She sank down in her chair as low as she could go, so her forehead was barely visible behind the desk.

'Blood!' Angel slammed his hand down on the front desk. Harmony jumped, in alarm, 'where?' she checked herself over for the incriminating evidence.

'That's what I'd like to know,' he told her, 'where's my blood? Harmony, I got the demon summit today and you're late and ...' he finally noticed how low she was sitting in her chair, 'what are you doing?'

'Desk crunches,' she improvised wildly, putting her hands to her head and miming sit ups. 'Get fit whilst you sit,' she laughed - slightly unhinged and wild. 'You should see my abs, you wanna?' Angel's face remained stony - and she stopped her little work out demo and picked up his mug. 'Mug o' blood coming right up, boss,' and she scurried away from her desk.

'Harmony.'

She turned back, nervously.

'I can't afford for anything to go wrong today.'

She choked down a whimper, 'what could possibly go wrong?' she gave a false smile - and then she ran for the staffroom.

...

She opened the microwave door and took out the blue bowl of oatmeal that was cooking inside and replaced it with Angel's mug o' blood. 'Act normal,' she said to herself - her voice was unnaturally high - even for Harmony. 'That's easy for Doily to say. He's not the one working for Mr. Axe Happy whilst a couple of quarts of human blood swirl through his syst-'

'You did it again!' an angry voice cut through her ramblings. She turned round, hastily. 'It's not my fault!' she blurted out. Dan, Lorne's assistant, was glowering at her. But his face became confused at her reaction. 'What?'

'Uh…' behind her the microwave beeped. 'You can't blame me that Angel gets grumpy when he's hungry,' she covered for herself, turning back round and taking the cup from the microwave.

She left the mug on the side and went to the fridge, taking out her own unicorn covered thermos and began to drink. It tasted so good - it was just what she needed right now and suddenly she couldn't get enough of it - and began guzzling it down, moaning as she did. Then she became aware of everyone in the staff room staring at her. She lowered the thermos and laughed sheepishly. 'Stress eating,' she explained. 'Angel's all… about the summit. And I'm his right arm so, the stress, and … the …' she gave up trying to explain and went back to guzzling her blood.

Then her phone rang. It was Angel, demanding to know where she was.

* * *

'So you got the prophecy book?'

Doyle nodded. He had driven back to the office and picked up Cordelia and now they were headed out to the address he had found on Dupree's body. 'Uhuh - but then the body dropped on top of us and my contact ran away before I could even pay him. I hope this book contains everythin' we need to know that the Flugglers can tell us, 'cause I got a feelin' that line of enquiry is well and truly closed to us.'

'And the body was dropped on you by Harmony? She killed him?' Cordelia sounded like she wasn't entirely sure why they were abandoning their hunt for The Scourge in order to deal with Harmony's problem.

'She doesn't remember killin' him. She doesn't remember anythin' at all - I think he drugged her - so we're goin' to look into him.'

'And once we've proved he's a date rapist - then what?'

'Then Harmony can tell Angel all about it and not have to live in fear of Captain Forehead swinging his mighty battleaxe at her neck.'

'Just seems like a lot of trouble to go to for Harmony.'

Doyle cast her a reproving look, she flung her hands up in the air as if to defend her point. 'Look - all I'm saying is, she did try to kill us that one time. And we do have bigger problems to be worrying about.'

'And she's your oldest friend - and she's in trouble.'

'Well when you put it like that,' Cordy folded her arms and looked sulky. Doyle smiled across at her. 'It won't take long, Princess,' he assured her, 'and then we can go back to all the fun o' wadin' through the cryptic prophecies.'

'At least tell me she's paying us.'

The reproving look appeared on Doyle's face.

'Kidding!' she flung her hands in the air again. Doyle wasn't sure she was kidding.

...

They arrived at the address Doyle had found in Dupree's wallet and pulled up outside. It was a small office, not unlike their own, which opened straight onto the street. It didn't have a sign above the building or a name on the door. 'What is this place?' Cordy asked, 'seems a pretty crappy way to run a business if you don't advertise - how does anyone find them?'

'Let's find out.' He opened the door and they stepped inside.

It was dim inside, and cool. There was a woman standing behind a desk across the office, her back was to them as she rooted through a filing cabinet. 'Be with you in a minute,' she called out to the couple, without looking up.

'No hurry,' Cordelia said to her. Doyle said nothing. He had frozen at the sound of her voice.

The woman must have found what she was looking for because she straightened up. She was petite and had curly hair. Doyle glanced longingly at the door - wondering if there was still time before … she turned round - and came to a startled stop.

Doyle swallowed, nervously. 'Hi, Harri,' he said.


	36. Harm's Way: Part Three

_Part Three_

Spike came to, when a bucket of cold water was thrown over him. 'Oh - bloody hell!' he groaned, struggling to sit up. He'd had his leather coat thrown over him as a blanket - and now it was soaking, along with his face, though at least the coat had taken the brunt of it and he was dry underneath.

'Rise and shine, vampire.'

He peered through the darkness - it was the landlord of the seedy dive he was sleeping in who had woken him. 'What's that all about? I'm a creature of the night, you git. I could bloody well have slept for hours yet and you know it. There's nothing for me to do here.'

'Boat's come in,' the landlord told him. 'Sailing out to Europe tomorrow. Captain's over yonder,' he pointed at a man propping up the bar. 'Isn't that what you were looking for?'

'Yeah ... right,' Spike nodded, 'thanks.'

He pulled his wet leather coat off himself and then stuck his hand into the inside pocket - hoping. Sure enough his stack of bills was still inside, and thankfully dry. He'd spent the previous day - and most of the night - inside this grimy little dive, playing poker. Not for kittens this time - for cold, hard cash. Seeing as how the great tit, Mr. Corporate life; Mr. I'm so smart; I'm Angel - the giant poofter who could, wouldn't give him any money, he'd had to earn his own. Fortunately, his cheating skills hadn't gotten rusty whilst he was a ghostly way of being and he should now have enough to buy himself a ticket. To Europe. To home. To Buffy.

* * *

'Francis?'

'Uh - yeah - hi.'

'Hi Harri,' Cordelia said. Harri glanced across at her. 'Hi Cordelia.' Cordelia looked between the the other two people in the room, seeing the way a blush was creeping up Harri's face, staining her cheeks - and the way Doyle was practically squirming, shifting his feet from side to side. 'Well, this is awkward,' she said. 'Harri, how've you been?'

'Good - I'm good. And you two?' She raked Doyle over with her eyes. 'He's letting you take care of him,' she stated.

'Well, I have managed to get him to curb one or two of his more destructive habits. But he remains a work in progress.'

'Well - that's good. Good. I'm glad to hear it… what brings you here exactly?'

Doyle coughed, cleared his throat uncomfortably, rubbed the back of his neck and then coughed again. 'Um - this mornin' … I came across … well, it's kinda awkward … Harri, you know someone called Tobias Dupree?' He silently prayed that his ex wife wasn't about to tell him that she was dating, or married to, the dead body.

'Toby - yeah - he works here with me, for a couple of years now.'

'That's all?' Doyle checked - 'you're just work colleagues?'

'Yeah,' she chuckled nervously, 'Francis, what's going on?'

But Doyle had run out of things to say. He rubbed the back of his neck again and looked awkward. From the way his ears were burning he knew they must be bright red - though maybe it was too gloomy in here for Harri to see that? Eventually, Cordelia took pity on him. 'We have some bad news,' she told the other woman, 'you might wanna sit down.'

'Did something happen to Toby?' Harri's voice became sharp, 'was he killed?'

'Why would you assume he was killed?' Cordy asked her, 'I mean - yes, vampire attack, but why did you jump straight to 'killed'?'

'I knew something like this was gonna happen,' Harri sank down in a chair, shaking her head. 'I tried to warn him - but Toby - he wouldn't be careful. Wouldn't take precautions. I bet he was out last night - was he out last night?'

Doyle coughed again, and then nodded, 'yeah - he met a vampire in a bar - and, well, actually we know the vampire, she doesn't drink human blood, and she says she has no recollection of what happened. She blanked out. I think she was drugged. You think maybe Toby…?'

'No way,' Harri shook her head, vehemently this time. She gestured to the young couple to sit down opposite her. They did - and she began to explain. 'We're demon's rights activists,' she told them, 'we work with clans that are having problems, help them find a path through - try to end the bloodshed peacefully, where we can. Toby would _never_ roofie a vampire girl. But if someone saw him out last night, realised this was their chance - they might have drugged your friend so she lost all her inhibitions, killed him and then blacked out. It's possible.'

'But why are you so sure that someone would want to kill him?' Cordelia asked, frowning.

Harri sighed. 'Toby has been acting as a liaison between two warring clans, brokering peace after five generations of fighting. And the two clans are … prickly, to say the least. There's a lot of mistrust - on both sides - the whole thing is a tinderbox just waiting to explode. It's been crazy round here, the past few months, trying to bring them both to the table. But that was meant to happen today. They're holding a peace summit today and Toby was supposed to be there to act as a gobetween. Now Toby's dead - the summit will fail and the violence will continue, maybe for another five generations. Either of the clans - and a lot of demons watching from the sidelines - could be behind this. This peace summit would have been historic, it would have brought about big change in parts of the underworld - if someone wanted to stop that, if they wanted to derail the summit, then killing Toby would be a surefire way of doing it. I _told _him to be careful. I just _knew _something like this would happen.'

'So these clans,' Doyle asked, 'they're meeting today - and they won't know Toby's dead yet? Do you know where they were meetin'?'

Harri nodded her head, 'of course. The summit was taking place in a big law firm, here in L.A - you might have heard of it - Wolfram and Hart?'

Doyle and Cordelia stared at each other.

* * *

Harmony cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder, so she could listen to the caterer and check off her to do list at the same time. She'd already reminded security about the summit. She still had to send transportation out to the warring clans - not like these hideous beasties could just hop on the subway - she needed to send them a car. Separate cars - else they'd have killed each other before they got here. But for now, she was working on the caterers - rearranging her order and trying to get the camel sent back. She listened to what the caterer had to say.

'I know,' she agreed, 'that's what I told him, but he said Chips and Dip … really? Wildebeest?' She was tempted for a moment, it was a good idea - if it would help the warring clans feel more comfortable, but then she thought better of it and shook her head. 'No - better stick with the Chips and Dip thing. Thanks.'

She hung up the phone - and looked around the lobby. All seemed quiet. No one seemed to suspect anything … 'OK, it's all peachy, just get through the day and I'm …' a woman walked past and Harmony found herself staring at her neck, able to see the pulse beating away beneath the skin and unable to look away. 'Ohhh…'

The phone began to ring and, glad of the distraction, she snatched it up. 'Hello, Angel's office.' The man on the other end of the line identified himself - and if she had had a heart beat it would have stopped right then. 'Just a moment, please,' she said - feeling almost woozy with the depth of her sinking feeling.

She pressed the buzzer of the intercom and spoke to Angel, in his office. 'There's a Detective Griffin on the phone for you.'

'Put him on.'

She pressed the button to connect Angel to the phone call - but didn't hang up at her end, instead staying on the line and listening in.

'This is Angel,' she heard the man himself say, and then she saw him - over in his office - pause and peer through the window at her. But she was more interested in what the cop was saying: a body had been found at the city dump that morning, looked like a vampire attack.

'Hold on,' Angel said into the phone. Then he yelled through the glass at his secretary. 'Harmony I got it.'

And now she couldn't listen in any more. 'Oh - right sorry.' She hung up her own phone, drat! That sounded like her dead body they'd found. Well not _her_ dead body but … oh she knew what she meant! And now Mr. Grouchy Pants had stopped her listening in and she had no way of knowing how much the cops knew and … Doily had said they wouldn't trace this back to her. That the dump was far enough away that she'd be safe. This was his fault!

She peered over at Angel, watching him hang up the phone. 'Oh God.' Then he picked up his phone and dialled. 'Oh God.' She wondered who he was calling. She felt a panic attack coming over her and began to flap her hands around her face in attempt to calm herself down. 'Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god.'

She was interrupted in her panicking by Gunn and Wes coming out of their respective offices and meeting in front of the front desk. 'Do you know what this is about?' Gunn asked his friend. Harmony at least now had an idea who it was Angel had been calling.

'Perhaps one of the Vinjis set down a teacup improperly,' Wes joked - half joked.

'Worse.' Angel stepped out of his office and they walked over to him. At her desk, Harmony strained to listen in. 'Just got off the phone with the LAPD. They found a body.'

'Where?' she blurted out, 'did they say where?'

Angel gave her a strange look but answered her question, aiming his words at his friends. 'City dump, wrapped in a laundry bag.'

Oh crap - that was almost certainly her dead body. What were the chances there'd be another one on the same day?

'And the police called you because …?' Wesley asked.

'Apparently - we own them. Well - that and they found my card on the victim. He was the liaison between the feuding clans.'

'Toby Dupree?' Gunn sounded worried.

But nowhere near as worried as Harmony was feeling. Of double crap. What were the chances that this guy would turn out to be the guy that Angel was expecting to show up at the office at any moment? Doily had said Angel never need know - and now he knew less than an hour later! This was a disaster!

'We're gonna have to do some serious damage control,' Angel was saying. He could say that again! Oh boy oh boy. How was she gonna get out of this, and how much did the cop know - could they find out it was her? She could hear the men still talking - Wesley was pointing out the dangers of how the two clans would interpret this death, as they were so superstitious. Plus this could be a message of some sort - someone trying to derail the summit or ...

'Oh it must be that!' She jumped on the explanation that at least seemed to divert any suspicion from her. 'The derailing thing. That makes sense. Right?' The men gave her an irritated look - she barely even noticed - and then they went inside Angel's office to discuss things with more privacy. And Harmony scrabbled out of her seat and fled down the corridor to a deserted spot hoping to do some damage control of her own.

* * *

The three of them were already in the car, driving over to Wolfram and Hart, when Doyle's cell began to ring in his pocket. He glanced between the two women - his ex wife and his current fiancee - apologetically, and then pulled over so he could take it out to answer. 'Yello?

'Doily, thank God!' he heard Harmony's frightened voice down the line, her words rattling out at the speed of bullets. 'Angel knows. He doesn't know it's me yet. But he knows the guy is dead. And it gets worse! The guy was supposed to come here today and…'

'Harmony, Harmony calm down,' Doyle said to her, interrupting her flow of frightened consciousness. 'Listen, darlin' - me and Cordy have been to his place o' work. We know about the summit. We think this might have been a purposeful hit, someone tryin' to disrupt the summit.'

'That's what Wesley said,' Harmony told him.

'Right - so they're not gonna suspect you and you're just an innocent pawn in all this. OK? Don't freak. Now - me and Cordy have found you a new liaison. We're comin' over to Wolfram and Hart right now. You go tell Angel you've found someone else to take Dupree's role in the summit and just hold down the fort until we get there, OK? I promise we'll sort everythin' out for y'.'

'OK - I can do that.'

'Good girl - we'll see you in a few, yeah - don't panic.' He hung up the phone and pulled out again, into the traffic. 'By the sounds of it things are unravellin' pretty quick,' he told the two women, 'we need to get there fast.'

* * *

'You lousy git, 500!' Spike had gone over to the bar and was now sat up on one of the high stools negotiating the price of his boat ticket with the captain - who was trying to play hardball.

'750 - that's my final offer,' take it or leave it.'

'How about this - 500 -' Spike morphed into his vamp face, 'and I won't kill you.'

But the Captain looked supremely unimpressed. '750. Final offer.'

'Son of a bitch!' He reached inside his pocket and pulled the bills out. 'this is bloody daylight robbery is what this is. You ought to be ashamed of yourself - taking a bloke's hard won cash. It's a right shame. That's what. Robbing me blind. Has me over a bloody barrel and he knows it.' He slapped the money down on the bar. 'Don't know how you sleep at night.'

The captain scooped the money up, counted it slowly and then handed a ticket over to the vampire. 'Nice doing business with you,' he said, getting up to leave. 'Boat sails at 9 tonight. We won't wait around.'

'Bloody bet you won't.' He looked around - trying to find the bartender, 'and what the bloody hell does it take for a bloke to get a drink around here?' he yelled.

* * *

The three men had got the clans on the phone, when Harmony arrived back at Angel's office. Gunn was doing the talking - and Wes and Angel were looking completely bemused by the series of snarls, grunts and clicks that emanated from the other end of the line.

'The Vinji clan is deeply concerned by this turn of events,' Gunn told the others.

'Perhaps you should try saying something,' Wesley suggested to Angel - as CEO of Wolfram and Hart his words should carry some weight. But Angel point blank refused. The language was way too complicated and he wasn't ready. 'Look, just tell them the summit can proceed as planned,' he told Gunn.

Gunn conveyed this message to the demons on the phone - but the snaps and clicks suggested that it wasn't well received. 'They're looking for vengeance,' Gunn translated.

'Tell 'em we're on it.'

Gunn started clicking - assuring them they had their oath that the killer would be found. Angel grew impatient and tried some clicks of his own. '_Be disembowelled.'_

The clicks became snarls and shrieks of outrage. '_Filthy manwhore. How dare you!'_

Gunn worked to try and smooth over the disaster. '_He meant be patient! The whore man is a novice in your tongue, We laugh at him, yes?' _He pressed the button to end the call. Angel sighed very deeply.

'What happened to not saying anything?' Wesley asked him.

'I guess I just got caught up.'

'Forgive and forget I always say,' Harmony said in her overly cheerful 'nothing's wrong' voice. 'That's the golden rule. Listen, boss - I may have found us a new liaison. To replace this Toby guy.'

The men all stared at her. 'You think you've found someone who can liaise between two feuding demon clans at a moment's notice?' Angel asked her blankly.

'Yuhuh.'

'Harmony - is this like the camel?'

She laughed a brittle laugh - too long and too loud. 'No! I swear - I didn't screw up this time - I have someone coming in…'

'Right - well - we'll deal with that disaster when it hits us. But for now - we need to find out who killed Dupree. I hope Fred will be able to tell us something soon. Dupree should be in the lab by now.'

'The lab? Our lab?' Harmony asked in horror - and then she turned and scuttled out of the office. This was all going to blow up in her face before Doily even got here...

* * *

She found Fred in the lab examining the dead body - yeah , it was her dead body alright. The scientist was leaning over him and recording her findings on her Dictaphone. 'Significant post-mortem battering, which suggests prior relationship with the victim. Time of death estimated at 1:30 am which…' she broke off when she saw the vampire enter the room, 'Harmony.'

'Hi, I thought I'd just pop by to see…'

'Angel sent you didn't he?' Fred did not sound impressed. 'He's all antsy about the demon summit so he sent you here to rush me. Only he doesn't wanna seem like he sent you here to rush me so he told you to act all… like that.'

'Oh - yeah. You know Angel,' she was grateful for the cover story Fred had so conveniently handed to her. She wouldn't have thought of it herself. 'So - what do you know. Do you know who did it?'

'I've only had the body twenty minutes!'

'Uhuh - and don't you think it's possible that whoever did it blacked out and doesn't even remember doing it so it's totally not even their fault?'

Fred looked confused and shrugged her shoulders, 'I guess,' and then went back to her examination, speaking into her recorder once more. 'Bite marks are 17 millimetres apart, 6 millimetres deep - on the right side of the neck.'

'Doesn't sound much to go on,' Harmony said. Fred ignored her and carried on speaking her findings. 'Which suggests a female vampire.'

'Or gay!'

'Um - it doesn't really work like that.' She bent down over the body and examined the neck wound more closely. Harmony watched her - her hold body tensed up, she felt ready to just about explode. 'Hey,' Fred said all of a sudden, 'Harmony is there something you wanna tell me?'

'Tell … _what_?'

'The guy at the bar.' She stood up straight again and giggled. 'I wanna hear all about it.'

'Oh. That.' She couldn't help but glance down at the body on the autopsy table - and then hoped Fred hadn't noticed. 'Uh - well - loser,' her voice became scornful. 'Big! Told me he was an _astronaut!_'

'Like anyone would believe that!'

'I know!' well I'd better…' she backed out of the lab, awkwardly and then turned and scuttled away.

...

She walked off down the corridors, thinking to herself. If Doily didn't get here soon - and she was done waiting for him - then she was just going to have to leave. Out of the building. Out of the country. Maybe Mexico - she liked Mexico. Or maybe Cancun. And she'd change her name. Harmonita - that was kinda pret…

A realisation suddenly hit her and she came to a stop. 'Bitten on the right!' her whole face lit up with her epiphany. 'He was bitten on the right!' She began to jump and down in delight. 'I didn't do it, I didn't do it.'

She bounced along the corridor and bumped straight into Rudy - she planted a kiss on his lips, 'I didn't do it!' she told him.

'You sound just like me six year old,' he said, grabbing her finger and pricking it for the blood test. 'He always says that.' His machine began to beep - and they both looked down at the screen. It read positive. They stared at each for a moment - and then Harmony giggled, shrugged - and knocked the blood technician out cold.

* * *

'So what now?' Cordelia asked, as Doyle pulled the Plymouth up outside Wolfram and Hart and turned the engine off. He glanced at her and then twisted in his seat so he could see Harri, sitting in the back. 'I think you two need to get up to Angel's office - pronto. The summit should be startin' soon - and Harri needs to be there.'

'What will you do?'

'I reckon Harmony's pretty majorly freaked right about now. I'll find her - tell her what we know, see if we can't start workin' somethin' out. That means Harmony's gonna have to be kept away from the summit, which means I need you to stand in for her, princess.'

'Me?'

'Sure - you were Angel's secretary for years, you know how to keep him calm. Just do any assistant sort o' stuff that he would normally get Harmony to do and that way - maybe he won't notice she's missing.'

Cordelia wrinkled her nose, 'why are we keeping Angel in the dark about all this?'

'He's got _way_ too much on his plate to be dealing with this drama right now,' Doyle told her - and it was true. Angel had been struggling with his new role at Wolfram and Hart as it was, add in a summit between warring demon clans and the dark avenger was probably ready to snap, crackle _and_ pop. If heads were not gonna roll - and the summit was going to be saved - then Angel was going to require delicate handling. 'Me and Harmony will solve the murder mystery, Harri will keep the summit spinning and you'll make sure Angel doesn't go off the deep end.' He looked around at both women, 'we clear?'

The women nodded. 'Good - Cordy, you take Harri on up to the lobby. I'll ring Harmony find out what she's up to.' They got out of the car and went their separate ways - ready to save the day.

* * *

Meanwhile, Harmony was stashing the unconscious Rudy in a janitor's closet. This was bad - the firm knew she'd drunk human blood, and she didn't know how that could be, because she now knew for a fact that she hadn't killed that guy. But that didn't matter, her cover was blown - the chopping could be imminent. Even if she ran - Angel would be right behind her. She needed to get those results and stop anyone finding out she'd tested positive.

Her phone began to ring and she snatched it out of her pocket. 'Hello?' Her voice trembled, terrified it might be Angel.

'Harmony, darlin' - It's Doyle. I'm at Wolfram and Hart, where are you?'

'Doily! Thank God. The dead guy's in the lab and my blood test came back positive and …'

She heard Lorne's voice getting louder, as he came round the corner. Like her, he too was talking on his cell phone - though his conversation seemed to be much lighter in tone and content than her own. She hastily shut off her call and began to scuttle in the opposite direction. But Lorne had seen her - and he called out to her. 'Harmonica! Hey! Have you seen Danny around - I need him to...'

She froze, and turned to face him - answering his question with a big, fake smile and a shake of her head. 'No.' But maybe she could get some info out of him: 'just out of curiosity, you know those random blood tests? Where do they go?'

'Well the results get transmitted automatically to the lab, I think. And then, uhm they…' he cut himself off as he heard a low, moaning sound - and frowned, glancing around the seemingly empty corridor. 'Did you just hear that?'

'Hear what?' She shrugged - and then knocked Lorne out cold, too.

...

After she'd stashed Lorne in the janitor's closet, next to Rudy, she closed the door, checked her hair and then scurried on down to the lab. She needed to find Doily - fast - but she also needed to find out what the lab technicians already knew. Maybe there was a chance she could still get her results back before anyone read them and found out ...

But it was not meant to be. Fred was reading a printout by the time Harmony got there - and she looked up in alarm when she saw the young, vampire woman. 'Harmony!' She began to back away - and Harmony knew she knew. 'I can explain!' she cried out in desperation.

But Fred was acting weird, nervous - she took off her glasses and tried to get past Harmony - though Harmony blocked her, not wanting to let her out of her sight now the scientist had seen the results. 'You don't have to have to explain anything …' Fred told her, in an unnaturally high voice - high even for Fred - 'I just have to get something out of my … I left my autoclave on.'

But Harmony wouldn't let her by. Even she could see through that lie. 'It's not what you think!'

This time, Fred tried to make her voice reassuring - though she still kept her distance. 'OK - so your test came back positive. You slipped, had some human blood - maybe it was consensual or…'

'There was nothing!' Harmony told her, 'I mean, I think there was something. I don't remember exactly. I think someone must have drugged me. I was at the bar and then I woke up and he was there.'

'Wait, he?'

Harmony gestured to the stiff on the autopsy table, Dupree. 'Him! The guy _you _made me talk to.'

'Oh God,' Fred looked down at the table, at the dead man lying there all pale and drained, 'he's _him_?'

'I didn't kill him,' the vampire insisted - and she knew at least she now had proof of this. 'I'm innocent! See - 'cause you said he was bitten on the right. _I'm_ a right biter. Look.' She grabbed Fred by the shoulders and mimed leaning in for a bite, leaning to her own right hand side. Fred squealed and pulled herself away, backing up even further.

'See? Right biter.' She grabbed again, trying to prove her point once more.

'Harmony stop!'

She did, but she still wasn't done explaining. 'I lean right, which means I bite you on your…'

'Left. I get it. Left.'

'Right! I mean _correct_.' This was getting confusing. 'And since he was bitten on his right, he must've been bitten by a left biter - ergo not me!'

'And that's a very compelling argument, Harmony, except - your blood test came back positive.'

Yeah - she knew that. But she was still sure there was more to this than it seemed - and so was Doily. It couldn't be what it looked like - she was a right biter! The results must be a mistake, or she'd drunk some accidentally or … she suddenly remembered how good the blood in her thermos had tasted that morning, how she couldn't get enough of it. And afterwards - she had been noticing the pulses in human's necks… But it hadn't been a problem before she'd been to the staffroom. Definitely. Doily had cut his thumb - he'd been bleeding all over the parking lot and - nothing. She hadn't cared - until: 'somebody spiked my thermos!' she realised.

'Why would anyone…?'

'I don't know…' she thought about what Wes had said, and what Doily had told her he'd found out. 'The summit! Someone wants to ruin it or …'

But Fred was looking unconvinced - was reaching for the phone. 'I want to believe you, Harmony, I do,' she told her. 'I think if we just call and explain what happened to Angel, it…'

But Harmony reached out and pressed down on the phone, cutting off the line. 'No! Zero tolerance policy remember?'

'He can help!'

'He's not a helper, he's a chopper! He'll cut my head off before I can get two words out … I'm not a killer,' she cried in desperation, seeing that disbelieving look still on Fred's face. 'OK, so I am. But I've been clean for eight months. Except for today - but this is different, because it's not me!'

'Angel will listen, I promise,' Fred assured her. 'He'll want to hear what you have to say and he'll understand. Don't worry - everything will be fine, OK?'

Harmony sighed deeply, and rapped her long finger nails on the wall - considering her options - as she watched Fred begin to dial the phone.

* * *

'Hi Angel, guys,' Cordelia gave a brief wave to Wes and Gunn. They were in Angel's office - and the two feuding clans were being held in the other two men's offices for now, no one was sure how to proceed - and Angel looked like he was getting a headache. They all stared at her. 'Cordy, what are you doing here?' Angel asked her, 'not that I'm not pleased to see you - but today isn't - I mean - with everything going on...'

'Demon summit, I know right,' she nodded, 'Big day - and even bigger disaster. Well I'm here to save it - the day that is. Angel, do you remember Doyle's ex wife, Harri?'

The men all stared at Cordelia's companion, Harri gave them an awkward smile, 'hi,' she said.

'Harri works with the demon liaison you guys were expecting - the one that turned up dead this morning.'

'How do you know about that?' Angel asked, sounding surprised. Cordelia paused for a moment - they hadn't thought to come up with a cover story for how they came to be involved. 'Uh - we're _detectives_ \- duh!' she said, and then immediately glossed over the fact the whole team knew that they all sucked at detective work. 'Anyway - Harri knows all about this case, she speaks the language, she can totally stand in for Dupree.'

'I did a lot of the paperwork for Toby,' Harri explained, 'a lot of the research. I scouted their clans for part of my thesis. Toby was the one who reached out to them, but I know the case inside out - I can help get them round the table.'

'Sounds good to me,' Gunn said getting to his feet, 'I can go speak with the clan leaders - see if they'll accept a substitute - you - uh - got any proof you knew Dupree?' he asked Harri. She dug in her purse and took out a business card, 'we work for the same firm,' she told him, 'hopefully they'll understand that Toby had the backing of his organisation and that we're all on the level.'

Gunn took it from her, nodded his thanks, and left. Angel was still staring at Harri. 'Wait a minute,' he said - everyone turned to look at him. 'Are you the liaison that _Harmony _was talking about? The one she said she found?'

Cordy and Harri glanced at each other, and then both nodded. 'Huh,' said Angel sounding impressed. 'Where is Harmony anyway?'

'Harmony?' Cordelia looked around, through the large window out into the lobby - there was no sign of the vampire secretary - and Cordy wondered if she'd met up with Doyle yet. 'Uh - not sure - is there something _I _can get you?'

* * *

Harmony pushed Fred's unconscious body inside the same closet that still held Lorne and Rudy. The woman started to come too, and so she stuck a bit of duct tape over Fred's mouth, muffling her cries for help. Lorne and Rudy were likewise gagged - and their hands bound by yet more duct tape. She looked down at them, a little sadly. 'I'm totally sorry I had to do this, and you guys are being super understanding. It's just until I clear my name - I _so_ owe you guys dinner.'

She was just closing the door one more time when she heard her name called out, 'Harmony!' She whirled round in terror - but then felt her whole body deflate with relief when she saw it was just Doily. 'Finally! I've been sweating through to my blouse all day - this thing is silk! It shows every stain.'

'Sorry, darlin' - I got here as soon as I could. Cordy's gone up to save the summit already and cover for you, so y' don't have to worry about that. We just need to solve this case…' he heard the muffled groans coming from behind the door. 'What's in the closet?' he asked.

'Well - things went from bad to worse - and I had to improvise.'

'What did you improvise?'

Reluctantly, Harmony opened the door up and showed him the pile of bodies inside. 'I'll let them go as soon as we solve this, but if I let them go now they'll tell Angel.'

Doyle looked down at them - Fred was fully awake now and glaring at him from behind the duct tape. He shook his head, sadly. 'She's right,' he said to the bound and gagged scientist. 'We don't have time - and Angel doesn't need to know anythin' that will derail the summit - he's got enough goin' on right now.'

'And he'll chop my head off.'

'And he might chop Harmony's head off. Look, we'll solve this real quick and get you out, I swear, I'll buy y' a drink…' and then as Fred began to yell at him, though her words were muffled by her gag, he swung the door closed.

Harmony was looking surprised. 'You sided with me,' she said.

'Well - you've got lot goin' on right now - and they just add an extra layer of complication. They'll be fine. So - what's happened round here?'

And Harmony explained about how her blood test had come back positive, so she had to knock Rudy out - and then Lorne had heard Rudy in the closet, so Lorne had had to go. And her test results had been sent to Fred - and Fred wouldn't listen. 'She was actually trying to _call _Angel and tell him all about it!'

'So - it looks like you did kill this guy, then, huh? Harri reckons a roofie would have knocked out your inhibitions enough to make you bite someone and then forget all about it. Pretty sweet cover for someone out there tryin' to derail the summit.'

'But I didn't do it!' Harmony exclaimed. 'I thought I must have - but Fred said he was bitten on the right. I'm a right biter so I bite…'

'On someone's left.'

'Yeah.'

'So … where did the human blood come from?'

'I think someone spiked my thermos - I was gonna go get it and see. Check for fingerprints.'

Doyle nodded, 'OK, then, let's do that.' They started down the corridor towards the staffroom. He glanced sidewards at her - she was still tense, her fingers laced together and her face clouded over. 'Hey, Harmony,' he said to her gently, 'you're doin' a great job, you know?'


	37. Harm's Way: Part Four

_Part Four_

Spike sat at the bar, a beer in one hand, his boat ticket in the other. He stared down at it, taking another swig of his drink. Back to Europe. He hadn't been on his own continent since … Prague. And that idiot mob. They'd almost killed Drusilla, left her weak and ill - fading from her unlife, and him desperate to put it right anyway he could.

That was what had led him to Sunnydale in the first place, taking Dru to the hellmouth - hoping it could restore her to health, put colour back in her cheeks - metaphorically speaking. But then that was exactly when it all went wrong for old William the Bloody. Or right. Depending on your perspective. That was when he first met Buffy.

The slayer. She was to have been his third. And he'd arrived in Sunnydale so cocksure and confident that he would claim his next prize. Only the slayer had been Buffy. Not just some girl with a stake and a holier than thou attitude - but Buffy. And she had been … nothing that Spike had ever expected.

He took another sip, and stared down at his ticket some more … remembering that first time he'd seen her. God she was just a child, when he had glimpsed her through the crowds, dancing with her friends - and he had lured her outside and watched her fight. And from then on, he had always been in the shadows, watching her fight. The way she moved, the tricks she played, the way she always found a way... he'd never seen anything of her like before. Never seen anything to equal her.

Drusilla had known before he did. Had pushed him away in South America - running around with chaos demons and fungus demons and every grotty demon bloke she could lay her hands on. At the time, he thought it was the truce - his teaming up with Buffy to stop Angelus and save the world - that had disgusted Dru so much. But he knew now it wasn't. Dru had seen his heart - had understood completely that it now belonged to the slayer.

Well, Spike didn't have the second sight, like Dru did. And - he wasn't one of the world's greatest thinkers either. It had taken him quite a bit longer to work out what he felt, to work out why he kept going back to Sunnydale, to Buffy, to seek a fight he knew he couldn't win. So many little plans, and silly schemes - and all so that he could just be close to her. Fight her. Watch her.

But eventually, even he had worked it out and then had come a time of lurking in the shadows, following her, stalking her - trying to prove to her that he loved her, and she could love him too. It had been a hopeless task. He was a soulless, evil demon and his love was a twisted, dark and selfish love. Not what Buffy wanted or needed or ever would consider accepting; but even once she made it clear that she could never love him, he still couldn't let go. Couldn't bear to move on and leave her behind. Because, whilst his love might have been twisted and dark and selfish - it was also real, and true. It was the only good thing about him - if anything could be said to be good about him back then. He loved someone who was truly noble and good - so he would try to be those things too. He'd fail miserably, but god he would try.

And occasionally - just occasionally - he would manage to get it right. When he had stood up to Glory, been brutally tortured, but utterly willing to die in order to protect Dawn - to protect Buffy from the pain of losing Dawn. That was when she had first seen that he meant it when he said he loved her, and it was the first time she had kissed him - not under the influence of a spell. Just a fleeting kiss, but sweet and heartfelt - to say thank you for what he had done. To reward him for his bravery and his loyalty. A monster should not be capable of that kind of loyalty, and she had understood just what it meant that Spike was. He was trying, and he would keep on trying - just for her.

But then she was gone - just like that. And he had spent a hundred and forty seven nights in bitter grief, cursing himself, thinking of a hundred different ways he could have done anything better, quicker, faster. He had saved her, every night for a hundred and forty seven nights he had saved her - but not when it counted. But then Will had pulled her abracadabra - so stupid and dangerous and she had no right to do it - but Buffy was back. On the hundred and forty eighth night he had got Buffy back - and when he had looked up those stairs, and seen her alive - and realised it was really her - it was the happiest moment of his entire existence.

She wasn't the same of course - not after the big, dirt sleep - she couldn't be. And in her pain, she had turned to him. Only he was still soulless, still twisted and selfish and - though he wanted to make everything right - he had no idea what was wrong. He didn't know that of course. William the Bloody - last of the big thinkers - had thought he had all the answers and he had taken advantage of her misery, without meaning to, and pulled her further and deeper into the darkness. It wasn't until she pulled herself out - ever the hero - and he tried to drag her back down, that he finally understood. Finally saw that - no matter how he tried, or how much he loved - he _was_ a monster. And she didn't want that. Didn't deserve that.

And it had all seemed so simple for Spike, soulless Spike. Buffy had loved Angel - Angel had a soul. She didn't love Spike. Spike didn't have a soul. So he had to get one - and then she would be able to love him. And so that's what he did.

It wasn't until after his soul was restored - as he felt it burn his way through his chest and into his unbeating heart - that he really came to understand. Getting a soul wouldn't wash away the past, wouldn't undo the hurt - he couldn't just tumble back into Sunnydale and ask her to love him just because he'd done this thing. For her. That wasn't how love worked.

He took another, very deep drink of his beer - and placed his ticket down on the bar. They'd built something together, Buffy and him. There had been trust and respect and affection. Maybe love. She had told him she loved him, in the end. She had called him a champion and he had died for her and she had told him she loved him. But where did that really leave them now?

* * *

The Vinji and the Sahrvin had been shown into the conference room and placed at different sides of the table. Harri and Gunn were each speaking to a tribe, making the strange clicking sounds with their tongues - trying to smooth things over, trying to explain the plan for the day. But both demon clans were still angry - Cordelia could tell that, even without understanding a word they said. Their tense body language, their angry tones - the way they sometimes snapped across the table at the other clan - this was a whole big mess and she kind of wished she hadn't found herself in the middle of it.

'_Dupree's murderer still walks free - this gathering is cursed.' _ The Vinji elder clicked and grunted.

'What she say?' Angel asked Gunn.

'They wanna walk.' He switched to the Vinji's language, '_we'll make it right.'_

'Tell them my ex husband is on the case. He's a very fine detective and he solves cases like these all the time,' Harri said across the table. She had just relayed this message to the Sahrvin, and they seemed to be calming down at the prospect of justice.

Cordelia watched as Gunn spoke to the Vinji, giving them Harri's message. The Vinji elder nodded agreement - but added a caveat. '_If you cannot offer the blood of the killer, one of your own must die.'_

Both Harri and Gunn looked troubled. 'What?' Angel asked them, seeing the expression on their faces. 'What she say?'

'Seems like it's bad luck to get things going before we cough up a little eye for an eye,' Gunn explained to him. 'Seeming as though we don't have the actual bad guy, they're willing to accept a substitute.'

'They want a blood sacrifice?' Angel looked scandalised, and yelled for his assistant. 'Harmony!'

It was Cordy's turn to look scandalised._ 'What?'_ she said, 'I know Harmony can be a little vacuous, I know she makes mistakes, but you can't just kill her to please some feuding demon guys. That's _definitely_ workplace discrimination.'

'I'm not going to kill her,' Angel replied through gritted teeth, 'I want her to go and find out if Fred managed to get anything off the body.'

'Oh - right - well - I'll go find Fred and you guys, stay here and try not to ritually sacrifice anyone.' And Cordelia scuttled off in the direction of the lab, glad to leave the conference room, and the fight brewing inside of it, far behind.

* * *

Harmony and Doyle arrived at the staffroom. The first thing they saw was Dan, Lorne's assistant, bent down in front of the fridge - grabbing the unicorn covered thermos. Before Doyle had even time to register what was going on, Harmony had crossed the length of the room - practically blurry with speed - and grabbed hold of Dan. 'Aha! The smoking thermos! Trying to get rid of the evidence?'

'What evidence? I was trying to reach Lorne's protein snack.'

Doyle had sidled up the pair of them now and was watching the scene. He raked his eyes over Dan - who was even shorter and slighter than Doyle - and very pasty looking. He didn't look much like a killer. Or a Machiavellian mastermind out to derail a summit, come to that. But Harmony was on a roll. 'Ha! You expect me to believe that? Go on! Admit it!'

'Admit what?'

'That you stole my thermos and filled it with human blood!' she yelled.

'Human … what?' his face crumpled and he looked terrified at the very prospect.

'Uh - Harmony - I'm not sure this is the guy,' Doyle tried to tell her. But she wasn't listening. 'It's so totally obvious you hate me!' she was still screaming, but she was crying now as well. 'You've probably been watching me sweat all day - laughing.'

'Hate you? I don't care enough about you to hate you!'

Doyle winced - that was a hard enough thing for anybody to hear, and Harmony was already at breaking point right now.

One of the women from the office stepped up, 'hey, leave him alone!' she yelled. Harmony turned her head - and vamped out. 'Mind your own business.' There was the sound of half a dozen chairs scraping back, hastily - and then everyone ran from the room. Dan was still trying to wriggle out from under Harmony's grip - but it was no use - she was far too strong for him. 'You murdered that guy - and put him in my bed!'

'Murdered - oh god…' he was crying now, blinking his eyes and staring upwards as if praying.

'You did this to me and now you're gonna confess', she had wrapped her hands around his throat.

'I'm - I'm - I'm sorry. I didn't. What guy? Please don't kill me. I swear…'

'Harmony, love, I don't think this little weasel has it in him to…' he stopped talking when Dan was suddenly hit over the head with a glass pitcher and knocked out. He and Harmony both turned to see who had done it. A petite woman was standing behind them. 'Why did you do that?' Harmony asked, her vampire features melting from her face as she considered this woman with bemusement. It was the woman she'd spilt coffee on the day before, but …

'To make it look like you did it,' the woman said.

'Why would you …' she suddenly gasped, 'it was _you!_' she yelled indignantly, pointing her finger at spilled coffee woman. But then she looked confused again. 'Wait … who are you?'

* * *

Cordelia wandered down the corridors. She was lost. Wolfram and Hart was huge! And she had no idea where Fred's lab was. She couldn't help but remember all the times Angel had broken into this place over the years, including last year when the whole lot of them had gone hunting for Kali through a swarm of zombies and had nearly been made into chow mein by The Beast. How had they ever found their way around? How had Angel managed to get into Lilah's office so many times? This place was like a maze. A really crappy, no fun, corporate maze.

She turned a corner - and heard a distant moan. 'Hello?' she called out. 'Is there anyone there?' The sound came again - and she headed in the direction of it. 'I can't see you,' she called out. She listened carefully, the noise seemed to be coming from inside the walls - but that didn't make sense. She carried on down the hallway - until she came to a door marked 'maintenance only' - a janitor's closet. She knocked, 'hello?' The muffled moaning noise sounded again and she pulled the door open.

It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the cupboard - and then she blinked in surprise. Fred, Lorne and a guy she didn't know lay bound and gagged on the floor, staring back up at her.

* * *

'You don't remember me?' The woman stalked closer to her, Harmony backed away - bumping into the counter. She glanced at Doyle, nonplussed - who also had no idea what was going on. Things seemed to have taken a turn for the … strange. Harmony shrugged at the woman - she had no clue. 'Think steno pool,' the woman said.

'Sambuca!' Harmony said, remembering her at last.

'Tamika!' Tamika slammed her hands down on the table as she yelled her name. Both Harmony and Doyle flinched. 'Well - you were only there, what? 5 weeks?'

'More like 4 and a half,' Harmony agreed breezily. Doyle had narrowed his eyes and was watching things closely, he couldn't be sure - but it seemed like maybe this had nothing to do with the summit after all. Maybe it was more personal than that.

Tamika's next words confirmed it. 'I've been there for Five. Years. I type 80 words a minute, I have an exceptionally pleasant phone voice.' They would have to take her word for it on that - her current tone of voice was terrifying. 'But you're the one who sits at the best desk in the building. You're the one in the in crowd.'

That actually made Harmony laugh. 'You think _I'm_ in the in crowd?'

'Oh - I see you in all the important meetings. You're on the fast track. Well that's all about to change. I have witnesses who saw you attack Danny, and when Mr. Angel hears that I saved him - your job will be mine by the end of the day.'

'Oh yeah - well - I have a witness too,' Harmony pointed at Doyle.

Tamika looked him over, taking in his rumpled shirt and beaten up leather jacket and the faint air of disreputability that Doyle just always seemed to manage to carry with him. She dismissed him out of hand. 'Whoever your new boyfriend is, Mr. Angel will believe a room full of his own staff over a homeless hobo a killer dragged in from the streets so he could vouch for her.'

'Now that's not very kind!' Doyle protested.

'You think Angel will believe _you_ over _him_?' Harmony said - she laughed, and vamped out. 'You're in way over your head, _Sambuca_.'

'Guess again.' Tamika mistook her words, assuming Harmony's threat was that she was a vampire - not that Doyle was a reliable witness, and she vamped out as well. Proving, in her mind at least, that they were even. Doyle backed right off - and stood in the corner, watching.

'Oh - I should have smelled you,' Harmony said.

'Maybe you would have if you didn't wear so much tacky perfume.'

'Chanel is not tacky!' She launched at the other vampire. But Tamika grabbed her by the throat and pushed her against the wall. Doyle sprang at Tamika then, trying to drag her away from Harmony, but the vampire woman released one hand from Harmony's throat and used it to backhand him, sending him flying across the room. He landed heavily on the floor, his nose stinging. Tamika regained her grip on Harmony. 'Saw you at the bar last night and I said to myself "this is it Tamika - this is your chance". So I slipped a roofie in your drink whilst you were busy slutting it up.'

Doyle stumbled back to his feet - still wincing from the pain.

'Then I followed you home with that guy and waited until you passed out. Then had myself a little snack.'

'That's just - ugh!' Harmony struggled under Tamika's vice like grip. 'I'm so gonna kick your ass.'

Tamika grabbed some chopsticks from the side and held them up, ready to stake. 'Dust can't kick!'

But Harmony kicked Tamika in the chest. She stumbled back across the room and straight into Doyle. The two of them tumbled to the ground, in a tangle of arms and legs - and then there was a desperate struggle to be the first one back standing, whilst Harmony grabbed some chopsticks of her own and bore down on them both.

Tamika tried to get back to her feet, but Doyle reached out and grabbed hold of her ankle, bringing her crashing back down. The two of them rolled over and over. Tamika was stronger, but Doyle was able to use his greater weight and height to his advantage, finally pinning her under himself. 'I got her,' he called out to Harmony, panting with the exertion of vampire wrestling. Harmony raised her makeshift weapon, ready to strike the killing blow, but Doyle stretched out a hand in alarm. 'Wait! If you kill her now there's no proof you're not guilty. We need to take her to Angel.'

Harmony hesitated and - in that moment - Tamika took her chance to punch Doyle on his already stinging nose, and throw him off her before jumping back to her feet. She grabbed her chopsticks and held it out like a sword. Harmony split hers in two and held one in each hand and Tamika followed suit. They circled each other warily, never taking their eyes off each other. But that was a mistake, for Tamika at least. Doyle - still on the ground - stuck his leg out and brought Tamika down again. She landed flat on her back and Harmony rushed her. 'You're gonna tell Angel the truth,' she yelled. But Tamika only headbutted her, sending her staggering backwards. 'The first thing I'm gonna do when I get your desk? Smash all those ugly ass unicorns!'

Harmony saw red.

...

Doyle wasn't even sure how it had happened. One minute the women had been evenly matched, Harmony having a slight advantage by having Doyle as back up, but Tamika more than able to hold her own and then … it was like a Viking Beserker attack. Just a pure frenzy of crazy and violence, and now Harmony had Tamika in a headlock and was marching her down the corridor, yelling at her, whilst Doyle jogged along behind them, trying to keep up with the incandescent vampire.

'And then you're gonna tell Angel how you stole my thermos,' Harmony was detailing, 'and filled it with human blood. And how you tricked me…'

Tamika stamped on Harmony's foot and then wrenched herself out of the headlock, whilst the other vampire was still dancing around in agony. 'My lips sealed. The key? Lost it!' She began to kick Harmony over and over, making her fall back.

'Ladies, please,' Doyle yelled, grabbing hold of Tamika by the waist and hauling her backwards - but she got in one lucky kick, striking Harmony directly in the head. Harmony fell to the ground and the sudden momentum of Tamika stopping struggling propelled Doyle over backwards and he and the vampire crashed to the ground once more.

* * *

The only thing that stopped the fight being audible inside the conference room was the screeching and clicks coming from the feuding demon clans. They were still angry - still snapping at each other across the table - still unable to sit down and start brokering peace whilst they believed this meeting to be cursed. '_If you can just be patient,_' Harri said to them in their language. '_I'm sure we'll have news soon. We're as angry about Toby's death as you are.' _

Angel and Gunn sat at the head of the conference table, their arms folded - their expressions a little defeated. 'What is she saying?' Angel asked, 'none of this was on the tape.'

'They're still demanding a -'

'_Whoreman has failed,' _The leader of the Vinji snapped at Harri.

'_We demand a sacrifice,' _agreed the Sahrvin.

Suddenly the glass of the window was smashed in, and cascaded to the floor in a thousand shining fragments, as Harmony and Tamika came crashing through and tumbled to the ground. Harmony grabbed the other vampire and hauled her up onto the the head of the conference table - and pulled back, raising her makeshift chopstick stake high. 'Harmony - no!' Doyle cried out from behind her. But it was too late - and Harmony plunged the chopsticks down into Tamika's heart, and Tamika exploded into a cloud of dust, on the table.

There was a sudden deafening silence in the conference room - and Harmony looked up, her vampire face melting away once again. 'Oops - I didn't mean to do that, yet,' she said regretfully.

The two clans of feuding demons stared at the spot where Tamika had just been dusted. '_Works for me,' _the Vinji said.

'_I'm good' _agreed the Sahrvin - and, much calmer, they settled back in their chairs to start brokering a lasting peace.

* * *

The team were gathered in Angel's office - except for Gunn who was still working away alongside Harri in the conference room. Fred, Lorne and Rudy were all nursing their bruised heads with icepacks - whilst Cordelia was giving them the once over, checking for concussion and administering paracetamol just like it was the old days.

Angel was sat behind his desk, his arms folded across his chest and his glower face on. Harmony was stood in front of him, her head hanging low. 'You should have just come to me,' he said to her.

'Gee I wish I'd thought of that,' Fred muttered sarcastically.

'Harmony's been under a lot o' pressure,' Doyle tutted. 'I'd like to see how you all would cope if you woke up in the mornin', roofied, and with a dead guy in y' bed. Especially on a day when y' know the dark avenger is feelin' cranky.'

'I'm not cranky,' Angel protested, trying to keep his voice even, 'I just don't understand …'

Harmony hung her head even lower - and when she spoke her voice was small. 'I'm really, really sorry you guys. I totally wouldn't have hit you over the head and put you in the closet if I didn't have a really good reason. It's just ... I was scared and … I know you never wanted me as your assistant. And OK … I know I made some bad choices. But it's not like I have a soul. I have to try a lot harder.'

'You know she isn't wrong,' Cordelia said, she was balanced on the arm of Fred's chair - checking her head lump. 'I mean - this time last year you didn't have a soul and …' she chuckled darkly. 'Well, we wouldn't all be sitting round discussing this politely if it was soulless Angel in the room now would we? You'd have killed us all and done unspeakable things to our corpses.'

'Thanks Cordelia,' Angel said, trying to shut her up.

'I'm just saying - Harmony's done a great job of not killing people - you should give her props for that. 'Cause you sure couldn't do it.'

'Again - thanks - I always enjoy your unique perspective.'

Cordelia rolled her eyes, 'unique? _Please_. We were all thinking it.' Doyle smirked. Even Lorne and Fred were having to bite back smiles. Angel only glowered even more darkly.

The connecting door between the office and the conference room opened then and Gunn came in. 'How's it going in there?' Wesley asked him.

'Well - so far no heads are rollin'. I tell you - that Harri chick is somethin' else. _Man_, does she know all their customs and their history and language. She's like Wesley on steroids. I just can't figure out how one normal human person can know so much about demons.'

Doyle shifted uncomfortably. Cordelia let out a bark of laughter. 'Harri's an ethnodemonologist,' she explained, 'she started studying demons back when chicken little, here, went through his big change. They were still married at the time.'

Gunn whistled. 'Well, I gotta hand it to you, Doyle - your ex is really something.' His eyes lingered on where Cordelia was gently tending to Fred's head and he smiled, glad to see something so familiar after so long. Some things never changed. 'Then again - your current is really something too - you got game when it comes to the ladies, Irish.'

'It's pure animal magnetism,' Doyle assured him. Cordelia snorted. Gunn looked round the room, 'so how are things going in here?'

'Harmony could have handled it better,' Fred said. 'But she didn't kill anyone.'

Rudy got to his feet, still clutching his ice pack to his head. 'You should be clean in two days,' he said to Harmony, 'I'll be watching you.' He left the room. Harmony hung her head lower. 'I know,' she said, sadly. 'He won't have to be watching 'cause … I'll just pack up my desk.' She turned to leave.

'Harmony?' she turned back when Angel called her. 'Just get us some coffee.' He gave her a small smile. She shook her head in disbelief and walked out, frowning. 'Seriously?' she heard Doyle say behind her, 'that's it. Girl goes through hell and saves the summit and you say …' he whistled. 'Have I ever told you recently how _incredibly_ grateful I am that you're not my boss anymore?' The door closed behind her - and she didn't hear Angel's retort.

* * *

'Well - I guess, it's time we should be pushing off too,' Cordelia said, grabbing her purse and getting to her feet. 'Come on, Doyle - this took way longer than we thought - and we still have those books to look at.' He got to his feet and followed her out into the lobby, closing the door behind him - but once they were out of earshot he pulled her round a corner. 'What?' she asked looking surprised.

'Listen - I was thinkin' - maybe you should go to Harmony, talk with her - go out with her tonight.'

'Why?' She looked completely bemused.

'_Because _\- she's had a really hard day and she could use a friend. Besides, you've done nothing but work for months now. You don't ever get out - talk to anybody that's not me. I think it'd be good for y'. A girl's night. Cordelia and Harmony, queens of Sunnydale, out on the town.'

Cordelia actually began to smile as she considered the idea - it had been a long time since she'd allowed herself to cut loose. 'But what will you do? Go back and read those prophecy books all alone?'

'Later, perhaps - but those books have been takin' a lot out of me. I know they're important - but they're so _borin'!_ I'd forgotten how much fun just runnin' around, solvin' a case was. I think I might milk this a while longer - just bein' normal, not all prophecies and promised ones. I thought I might stick around and chat to Angel some more. And you know how cranky he is. He needs my quick wit and wise words to keep him on the straight and narrow. And I need a break from the doom and gloom and pulse pounding fear.'

'Well, OK - but don't stay too late. We really do have to be getting on in the morning.' She gave him a quick kiss, 'I'll see you at home?' He nodded, and she walked away to find Harmony.

* * *

On the way back to Angel's office, Doyle bumped into Harri coming out of the conference room. 'Hey,' he said to her, smiling but a little uncomfortable.

'Hi.'

'Look,' he shifted his feet and rubbed the back of his neck, 'I'm really sorry about just springing up on y' this mornin'. I honestly had no idea that you worked with this Dupree guy. I wouldn'tna … well … maybe I wouldda called first, if I'd known.'

'It's OK,' she smiled at him warmly. 'I'm glad I found out what happened to Toby. And I'm glad I've been able to help out at the summit - you know Vinjis and Sahrvins really are a fascinating culture, the intricacies of their customs, the way they developed such highly sensitive codes of conducts…' she trailed off when she saw his slightly glazed expression. 'But I guess you still don't share my interest in demons, huh?' she asked him .

He shrugged, 'well, I kill a lot o' 'em, if that counts.'

'You know it really is good to see you again, Francis,' she said, her voice was softer. 'You look well, you seem happy…' He nodded at her general assessment of him. 'And you and Cordelia…?' she asked.

'We're - uh - we're gettin' married,' he admitted.

'I'm glad to hear it.'

'Well … I hope I make a better husband second time around than I did the first.' He thought of yesterday - and how he felt that same rage that had become such a staple of his character in the dying days of his last marriage. It was that that had driven Harri away, in the end. But - just yesterday - he had felt that rage and overcome it, he hadn't dragged Cordy down into his misery, or turned his anger on her. He'd mastered it - all by himself. So maybe he really could do better this time. Maybe he really _was_ better, after all.

She smiled again, a little sadly this time. 'Well - I better…' she gestured with her head in the direction she had been headed.

'Right - right - I won't keep y'. Important work to do. Well - uh - I'll see you around?'

'Yeah. See you, Francis.' She walked away - and he headed back into Angel's office, glad he'd got a chance to speak with Harri properly - but also glad that conversation was now over.

* * *

Inside Angel's office, Gunn had disappeared back into the conference room - and Fred and Lorne had gone off to nurse their head bumps. Meanwhile, Wesley had gone down to the daycare centre and picked up Connor. The little boy was now sat on his knee, wearing a bright red baseball cap.

'Wow, Connor, cool hat,' Doyle said to him. 'Where did you get it?'

'Mewsum. Grrrr.' The little boy growled at him.

'Connor went to the Natural History Museum today,' Wesley informed the half demon.

'And the Au Pairs let him buy a whole load of junk. That hat - some toys - a colouring book,' Angel said, 'you think they'll charge that to the company or directly to me?' he worried

The two other men burst out laughing. 'Man you're cheap!' Doyle told him, 'you're the CEO of a multimillion dollar corporation, your son goes on an educational excursion and you're worryin' about the price of a _colouring book_?'

'Well - If I thought he was actually gonna colour it in… Probably just scribble all over it.'

'Well then I guess you better confiscate it - huh - you can colour it in yourself, keepin' in the lines…'

'I just like things done properly.' Angel fussed. Doyle laughed again, and sat down beside Wesley on the sofa, he stole Connor's hat and put it on his own head. Connor screeched and snatched it back off him.

'Did Cordelia go home?' Wesley asked him. He shook his head, 'she's with Harmony. I thought they could both do with some RnR. Lock up your nerds - the meanest girls in Sunnydale history are hittin' the town and takin' no prisoners.' Both Wesley and Angel laughed. 'What about you guys?' Doyle asked them both, glancing between them. 'After your big day - how are you doin'?'

'I'm just glad it's over,' Angel admitted. He put his hand to his brow and rubbed his forehead. 'But there'll be another just like it, soon enough. It never stops round here.'

'It never stopped before,' Doyle pointed out to him, 'at least here you're not havin' to worry about payin' the bills … and fendin' off lawyers.'

'Yeah…' but the deep sigh showed that the vampire did not really consider these factors to make up for all the downsides of being at Wolfram and Hart.

'Bigger picture, shades o' grey still gettin' to y'?' Doyle asked him. He nodded again - and gave that same sigh. 'Yeah.'

'Well … anyone fancy a drink?'

* * *

The two cocktail glasses clinked together. Harmony had taken Cordelia up to the Sky Bar and they had ordered Green Screwdrivers. 'Was he always this cranky?' She asked.

'Oh - much much worse!' Cordelia assured her. 'You got the Angel I've been breaking in for four years. He was like a bear with a sore front paw when I first got him.'

'Well - he's still pretty sore these days. I mean - I save the summit by killing the skank who tried to frame me and all I get is "get us some coffees" - can you believe that?'

'One time he fired me - and then he gave my clothes away. Never even said he was sorry. _Believe me_ you got off light.'

'Nuhuh - he doesn't listen to a word I say, I run errand after errand for him and he never says "thank you".'

'I don't think it's even in his vocabulary.'

'He doesn't appreciate anything I do for him and he gets so crabby if I'm just like half a minute late with his warm mug o' blood.'

'One time I tried putting cinnamon in his blood to give it some flavour, he said it looked like it had coagulated and refused to drink it.'

'Well yesterday he executed a guy right in front of me and then just asked me to clean it up! Didn't even say "please".'

'Textbook Angel,' Cordelia nodded. 'He once had me and Doyle dismember a giant squid monster in the sewer - no please or thank you - just said we'd taken our time getting there. It was a Sunday! Do you know how many enchanted swordsmiths are open on Sundays? _Not many!'_

'Is this a private Angel bashing party or can any bloke join in?' a voice interrupted them.

'Spike!' Harmony said in surprise.

Cordelia choked on her drink, as Spike pulled out a chair and sat down with them. 'You're solid again!' she said.

'They don't get a trick past you, do they?' he raised an eyebrow at her. 'So - Angelus - worst things he's ever done…?' The two women giggled, as he thought about it. 'Nah - the list's too long,' he said eventually, 'and not for the fainthearted.'

'So how come you're here?' Harmony asked him. 'Aren't you meant to be in Europe - slayer chasing - or whatever?' Cordelia choked on her drink again - but neither of the vampires noticed.

'I was going to,' Spike said, 'had a boat ticket and all. Then I put a little thinking into it. A man can't go out in a bloody blaze of glory, savin' the world, and then show up three months later, tumblin' off a cruise ship in the south of France. I mean, I'd love to - don't get me wrong - but, uh, it's hard to top an exit like that.'

Harmony rolled her eyes, 'but girls don't care about stuff like that, right Cordy?'

Cordy swallowed her sip of drink and nodded in agreement. 'Right - if anything ever happened to Doyle… I don't care how much of a hero he was in the end, or how insalubrious his return is - and knowing Doyle it would be - as long as I was getting him back, I wouldn't be asking questions.'

'See,' Harmony said, giving Spike a meaningful look. 'Just one look at you and she'll forget herself and she'll go all tingly. And it won't matter how horribly you treated her in the past or how you took her for granted…'

'I never took her for granted,' he interrupted - but then he caught Harmony's expression and realisation dawned '..oh.' He thought about it some more. 'I expect Buffy would be happy enough to see me. It's just, I gave up my life for her, for the world, and if I show up now, flesh and bone, my grand finale won't hold much weight… won't matter.'

'Yeah - not mattering. I get that.'

'Oh, come on, Harm,' he said to her, 'you matter to someone.'

She looked disbelieving, 'I do?'

'Yeah - the way I hear it, some girl tried to frame you. You must have mattered to her. Everyone's talking about it.'

'She did go to an awful lot of trouble to get you … into trouble,' Cordelia agreed. 'It cost her her life - that's what she was willing to risk, just to make you pay. She wanted to kill you and take your place - it's just like being back in highschool!'

'You're right,' Harmony said thoughtfully 'That girl _hated_ me. She wanted me _dead_.' She smiled, as realisation dawned. It didn't matter that the mirror was blank, or that Mrs. Jacobi never said hello, or that her boss was the grouchiest, most ungrateful lunk of manpire to ever brood incessantly in a dark corner. It didn't make a difference. She was still Harmony - same as she'd always been - and people still wanted her dead. 'I matter.'

* * *

**A/N next episode is 'Soul Purpose' **


	38. Soul Purpose: Part One

**Soul Purpose**

_Part One_

In the underground throne room, a small, rough hewn statue was placed in the middle of a pentagram. The flames of a hundred candles shot upwards - growing taller and casting flickering shadows onto the rock of the walls, taking on the shapes of the demons performing the ritual. Their curved horns, sharp claws and snapping jaws were elongated, made massive in shadow form. The group began to chant - an undulating wail in a strange tongue and, as their mantra reached its crescendo - the eyes of the statue began to glow red.

* * *

_Angel lay on the floor of the stage, he was bruised and aching - coughing and spitting up blood. He rolled over and tried to sit up - and that was when he saw him. Spike was stood by the pedestal, holding the golden cup of perpetual torment. Just seeing that felt like a punch to the gut, like all the air had left his body. 'Spike wait!' Angel cried out to him, 'that's not a prize you're holding. It's not a trophy. It's a burden. It's a cr-' _

'_Blah blah blah,' Spike's bored voice cut him off. 'Give it a rest, hero. I win - you lose. And talking's not gonna change that.' _

'_It's not your destiny - it's mine,' Angel said weakly. Even to his own ears he sounded desperate, pathetic. And Spike must have heard it too, because he turned to look at his old grand sire, cup still in hand, and sneered in his face. 'Still can't accept it can you?' he asked. 'Pathetic really. All your life's been a lie. Everything you've done - the lives you've saved - dreams of redemption - all that pain … all of it for nothing. 'Cause this…' he looked at the cup, 'was never about you. Cheers.' He raised the goblet to his lips and began to drink. _

'_No!' Angel felt the crushing weight of failure, of aching terrible loss - as he watched his hope, his destiny and his redemption be snatched away from him, and by a monster of his own making._

_Spike drank deeply from the cup and, as he did, a light began to shine on him from above, suffusing his entire being with a warm and golden glow. Trapped down in the dark and the cold, Angel stared up at Spike, basking in the light - being anointed with this mark of destiny. And then Spike let go of the cup and let it drop to the floor. It hit the ground with a mighty clang and rolled away and the beam of heavenly light began to fade._

_But then that was when Angel began to hurt - from the inside. He felt his whole body be gripped by the flames and he groaned and screamed in pain as it burned his bones to ash and tore through his flesh - until he disintegrated into a fiery nothingness, leaving nothing behind but the echo of his agonised scream._

_..._

Angel jerked away with a start, and gazed around him in alarm. A cold sweat had broken out on his brow … but slowly he came to realise that he was in his office - alone - and that everything he had seen had been nothing but a dream.

* * *

Cordelia and Doyle walked through the streets of Downtown, hand in hand. They each carried a weapon in their spare hand but were holding onto them very loosely. This was just a routine patrol - and nothing exciting had happened yet - so they were simply enjoying being out for a stroll. 'I really need to start thinking about getting a dress, you know,' Cordelia said.

'A dress?'

'For our wedding! I need to have something new and beautiful to wear … OK, so I _want_ something new and beautiful to wear. But it has to be in a realistic budget - so I need to get looking.'

'Do I get to wear somethin' new and beautiful too?'

She laughed, 'well, I think we can probably stretch to a new pair of pants for you … but not if it's gonna take away from my dress budget.' She suddenly frowned and twisted round to look over her shoulder. 'What's wrong?' Doyle asked her, coming to a stop.

'I…' she twisted again - but couldn't see anything. 'Nothing, I guess I just … I thought I sensed something.'

Doyle twisted around as well and peered curiously down the street. 'I don't feel anythin'.'

'No …' they began to walk again, 'guess it's just my mind playing tric…' she came to a stop. This time she had definitely heard something. Doyle looked like he was about to open his mouth and ask her what was wrong again - so she shushed him and strained her ears. She heard it. In the distance - a creepy little chuckle. 'You hear that?' But Doyle only shook his head.

She dropped her hand from his and listened once more. There it was again - it seemed to be coming from down the block - she headed towards the sound. But as she moved towards it, it always moved further away. She began to run - chasing after it. She was aware that she was leaving Doyle behind, he couldn't move as fast as she could - and he couldn't hear the unearthly laughter to follow it - but she didn't care. She just wanted to find it and stop it. Doyle would catch up.

It sounded again, and she followed it round a corner into a dark alleyway - but then it just vanished and she was left alone in the dark. She shook her head and tutted and turned to leave - and that was when the demon loomed out of the shadows, roaring and snarling. It was a greenish yellow, with massive shoulders and a wide open mouth. She swung her sword at it - but it's skin was so hard that the blade just bounced off and she staggered away with the force of the rebound. She regained her balance, gripped her weapon more tightly - and launched forward for her next attack.

...

Doyle ran towards the mouth of the alleyway. He had seen Cordy disappear down it and now he could hear her yells and grunts - and the sounds of a sword, and fists and feet striking metal. He rounded the corner and came to a dead halt - not understanding what he was seeing, but knowing something was dead wrong. His heart already pounded in his chest, battering against his rib cage, and his breathing was shallow and ragged from trying to keep up with a slayer; but it felt like his breath was stolen and his insides turned to ice when he saw what was going on. He didn't understand it - though clearly something was badly wrong, and that thought filled him with dread. 'Cordelia!' He launched forwards and grabbed her around the waist, hauling her backwards. Her sword was raised high in the air and she dropped it in surprise as she felt him pull her away from the fight. She heard it fall to the ground, and heard the demon roar out.

'What are you doing?' she cried, fighting her way free from her boyfriend's grip. 'I need to fight the demon.' She dived back for her sword, keeping out of the reach of the demon's arms.

'Cordelia!' Doyle looked desperately between her and her opponent. 'Cordelia _that's not a demon!_'

She stopped still and turned to stare at him. 'Look at it,' he said to her gently, 'look.' She turned back around to peer into the shadows, looking at where Doyle was pointing and knowing she was going to see the monster that had just attacked her. But it wasn't there. The only thing standing in the alleyway, besides themselves, was a large, empty, greenish yellow dumpster.

* * *

Spike sat alone at a table near the stage of the Peppermint Stick strip club. A young, bottle blonde woman in not much at all gyrated up on the podium. He wasn't really interested in watching her - but a bloke had to do something with his eternal unlife. He drained his glass of the last of its whisky and put it down on the table before reaching into his jeans pocket to get more cash for the next one. But before he had even moved, a new whisky had been placed on his table.

He looked up to see who had put it there. It was a bloke. 'Uh, yeah, thanks … but not really my type, Mary - so why don't you just push off.' He pushed the man's drink away - and put his own money down on the table. But the man hadn't moved - was still staring at him, and that was pissing him off. 'What are you gawking at?' he demanded.

The man shrugged. 'A guy like you, whiling his time away in some cheesy downtown strip dive. Look like somebody who's feeling kinda lost.'

That pissed Spike off even more - not least because there was a grain of truth in it. 'Is that right? Funny, I thought I knew exactly where I was. Place called the Peppermint Stick. Prima Ballerina up there is Sunshine - though I'm fairly certain that's not her real name.'

'You know, we should really talk.'

Spike sighed, 'you know? Really not.' He got to his feet and took a step forward, getting in the man's face ready to let loose a diatribe … but then he pulled back and squinted at the man. Now he was closer… 'hang on a mo' - do I know you?'

The man shrugged again, 'do you?'

Spike began to nod, remembering. 'Yeah,' he said slowly. 'You were at the Wolfram and Hart Halloween party…' he finally placed him - remembering him dancing and getting drinks, remembering Harmony asking Spike to dance with her so she wasn't left with just this guy. 'Fair Cordelia's boyfriend, right? What she say your name was?... Doyle.'

The man - _Doyle_ \- nodded. 'That's me.'

'So … what you doing here then?'

_Doyle_ sat down at the table. 'I'm looking for you - of course. Tell me - have you got any interesting mail lately?'

* * *

Meanwhile, the real Doyle had taken Cordelia back to the office - luckily they had not been too far away, and he had kept his arm tightly around her waist the whole time, not letting go of her. She was annoyed - and more than a little embarrassed. 'I don't get it,' she complained flopping down on the sofa and dropping her sword to the floor. 'It was definitely a demon - I saw it - it had a big wide mouth and these shoulders that were really wide and…'

Doyle rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. 'I mean - it kinda sounds like you're describing a dumpster, there - you know - big opening at the top - broad.'

She glared up at him from her prone position on the couch. 'I know what I saw, Doyle. It's hardly my first demon. I know what I'm doing, you know.'

'I know…' he looked worried. 'Uh - what happened exactly?'

She sighed. 'I told you - I followed the sound of the creepy laughter into the alley. And then the demon attacked me. I was fighting back and then you grabbed me from behind and the demon was gone and there was only a dumpster. Maybe it vanished or…'

'I saw y' fightin' the dumpster, darlin',' he told her.

'Well … maybe it can shapeshift. Maybe it appears differently to different people.'

'Maybe…' he gave her a worried look. 'I'll … I'll get researchin'.' He sat down behind the computer, switched it on and logged onto the demons demons demons database, wondering if it could be that simple. A shapeshifter. But … the demon hadn't changed shape. He'd seen her - fighting the dumpster, as if it were a demon. But it was a dumpster.

Cordelia lay on the sofa, with one arm flung over her eyes - and Doyle kept casting worried glances in her direction, as he waited to see if he got any hits. 'I can feel you looking at me,' she said, at length, though she still hadn't moved her arm. 'I'm not lookin',' he mumbled. 'I'm workin'.' He tore his eyes away from her and looked back at his screen.

'You find anything yet?' she asked.

'Not yet. I've only just started.'

She sighed, sat back up, and rubbed her face. 'I guess I'll make us some coffee,' she said - and crossed the room to the coffeemaker. As she switched it on and waited for it to heat up, she heard it again: that creepy, otherworldly, little chuckle. 'You gotta hear that!' she said to Doyle.

He looked up from his computer, surprised, 'hear what?'

'You're kidding!' There it was again. How could he not hear that? It was so close! It sounded like it was coming from out in the hall. She abandoned the coffee and followed it out, determined that she would discover what the hell was going on. The memory of Doyle finding her beating on a massive garbage can was still making her burn with embarrassment - and she knew there had to be more to this. He might not believe her - but she had seen a demon. Something was going on.

She walked down the hallway, towards the front door of the building. It was dark and shadowy, as it was late at night and the rest of the building was deserted. 'Hello?' she called out, straining her ears for any sign of the demonic chuckler.

A sudden shape loomed out of the shadow - and she punched first and thought later, her slayer instincts kicking straight in. She pulled whatever it was out of its corner and - from the light thrown inside by the streetlamps - she saw her attacker. It was a different demon to the last one - but still green. It was taller though - and more slender - but it had too many limbs, which snaked around her, trying to choke her. And it had massive, brown feet. She pulled down on one of the snaking limbs and heard the demon scream out in agony as she broke it. Then she swung her fist - and followed up with a roundhouse kick.

...

Back in the office, Doyle looked up frowning as he heard the sounds of muffled thumps and thuds coming from out in the hallway. He got to his feet and walked towards the door, in trepidation of what he was about to see. Sure enough - when he found her - Cordelia was out in the hallway, all alone, beating the ever living hell out of a Yucca plant.

* * *

Spike stared down at this man in disbelief. 'You?' he asked, 'you're responsible for me being back? You sent that package with the deghosting mojo?'

_Doyle_ smirked, 'and?'

'The amulet,' Spike realised. _Doyle _pointed his finger at him, as if to say 'bingo'. 'You mailed that thing to Wolfram and Hart,' Spike said.

'Couldn't just leave you trapped in a bauble at the bottom of the hellmouth, could I?'

'why?'

'Come on Spike,' hepicked up his whisky and began to drink it, 'you must know there are people out there who are interested in you …_ powerfully_ interested in you - you might say.'

But Spike had had enough of this mystic mumbojumbo crap. He grabbed hold of the man's arm and glowered down at him. 'Enough with the cryptic - I wanna know what it is you want. And how fast I can snap your arm before you answer.'

'It's not what I want- it's what you want.' He yanked his arm out of Spike's grip. 'You've got your life back - so what are you gonna do with it?'

* * *

Wesley and Gunn marched down the corridor together, locked in a heated discussion. 'I say we make a pre-emptive strike,' Wesley was arguing. 'Remove him before he and his followers go underground.'

'Assassination?' Gunn sounded surprised at the line of thinking. But Wesley defended it - they were talking about an evil warlock, here. The longer they waited the more powerful he would become.

'I don't plan on waiting,' Gunn retorted, as they reached the front desk. Harmony was still at work there.

'Really? Then what's your plan?' Wesley asked him.

'We open a can of Machiavelli on his ass.'

Harmony stared up at him. 'It's Matchabelli, Einstein,' she said witheringly. 'And it doesn't come in cans.'

Gunn ignored her, 'is he in?' he asked instead.

'Is who in?'

Both men rolled their eyes - and walked off towards Angel's office without bothering to answer her.

...

They were still arguing as they walked through the office door. Angel was sat in his swivel chair, well - more slumped in his chair - and his brow was lowered and he didn't seem to be following what was going on. 'What you're proposing could take weeks,' Wes was protesting, 'and we can't afford the delay.'

'48 hours, maximum,' Gunn corrected him. 'There's at least two initiates in his inner circle who'd just jump at the chance to overthrow him.'

'You're overlooking the tactical merits of my assassination attempt.'

'Guys - ' Angel tried to interrupt them. He didn't know what was going on, his head was swimming and their words were buzzing in his ears and not making any kind of sense. But the two men were still arguing. 'Hey! In my plan he still wakes up dead by Thursday,' Gunn said heatedly.

'Guys!' Angel yelled again. He felt clammy - and feverish. But vampires didn't get fevers, he hadn't felt this way in over 200 years - but he felt like he was burning up one minute and so cold the next. It made it hard to concentrate. But at least he had their attention. 'CEO, right here, in the dark.'

'Sorry Angel,' Wes apologised - and began to explain the predicament. Lucien Drake was a warlock of the evil variety. A cult leader with over a thousand followers. They'd sold their children down the Hades river in return for demonic mojo and were now stockpiling weapons. Only the weapons were black magick of the most dangerous variety.

Angel wiped the cold sweat from his brow. 'And you want Wolfram and Hart to stop them?' he asked.

The two men glanced at each other. 'Not so much stop as …'

'As redirect their energies,' Wesley finished up. See, the trouble was, a cult this big had alliances, connections, if they confronted them directly … it could be bad for business. However, if they covertly eliminated the leader, then the cult would spend the next billing cycle fighting amongst themselves as to who should replace him.

Angel screwed up his forehead, as he tried to get his mind round this. His brain was working slowly - all his energy felt like it was being sapped away and his body was shivering from the cold, but he still burned inside. 'Uh - so - are we doing this because it's right … or because it's cost effective?'

'A little of both, actually,' Gunn admitted.

'Yes, once again we find ourselves in a bit of a grey…'

'Don't,' Angel tried to interrupt him, before he said it. It didn't work.

'...area,' Wesley finished up. He glanced at his boss and his expression became concerned.

Angel slammed his hands down on the desk. The aching was making him short tempered. 'Don't say that! Can't we get through one damn day without saying that?' He felt his friends worried eyes on him, and immediately regretted his outburst. 'OK,' he rubbed his head. 'Explain it to me again.'

* * *

Doyle had managed to pull Cordelia away from the plant and - once again when he spoke to her, she was able to see it for what it really was. He took it back into the office and put it down in the corner - though it was looking very much the worse for wear after going a few rounds with a slayer. 'Tell me what happened,' he said quietly.

Cordy had sat down on the sofa, she pressed the tips of her fingers together and took a deep breath. 'I heard the laughter and I followed it outside. It led me down the hallway - and that's when the demon attacked.'

'But Cordy - it's not a demon. It's a Yucca plant.' He was looking even more worried now than he had when she'd attacked the dumpster.

'It was a demon!' she protested. 'It loomed out of the shadows - and it had all these arms … and then you turned up … and it turned into a plant.'

Doyle rubbed his face, and then pushed his hands upwards through his hair, leaving it all rumpled and stuck on end. 'That plant's been standing in that corner for months, love. Maybe years. We pass it by everyday. It can't be a shapeshiftin' demon.'

'It was!'

He inhaled - and nodded. 'OK - tell me again about what happened earlier. With the dum - with the first demon.'

'I told you - I went round the corner - and there it was. Until you came - and it changed into a dumpster.'

'I saw you fighting the dumpster,' he said to her. 'It didn't change shape afterwards. I was seein' a dumpster and you were seein' a demon at the exact same time.'

'Well maybe it's a slayer thing,' she said defensively. 'Maybe I'm the only one who can see it.'

'Maybe,' he nodded his head, slowly. 'But … the two demons you described looked different from each other. One looked, well … a bit like a dumpster. And the other looked like a Yucca plant. If a Yucca plant was a demon.'

'Well I can't explain it! It's my job to kill the thing - not research it.'

Doyle squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. 'OK - yeah - it's just … we gotta look at this carefully. Other than the demons turnin' into other stuff…' he sounded doubtful as he said that, 'what else do these two fights have in common?'

'The creepy laugh!' Cordelia said. 'I followed it both times. Both times I heard the disembodied laugh first and then got attacked moments later.'

'Right - so it's not the demons that you see that we need to be worried about, so much as the laugh, yeah?' he said. 'Listen, Cordy - next time you hear it - don't follow it by yourself, promise me? And don't run off faster than I catch y'. Next time you hear it- we go lookin' for it together.'

* * *

Over at the strip club, Spike was done listening. 'I've heard enough,' he said, getting to his feet and striding towards the exit. 'Don't you even wanna know why you came back to L.A?' _Doyle _called after him, getting to his own feet and following him across the bar. 'You hate this city, there's gotta be a reason, right?'

'You talk a lot for someone saying nothing at all.'

_Doyle_ reached out to grab him. 'You've got a destiny…' But Spike was too quick, and quite mightily irritated by this point, and he grabbed hold of the other man and threw him against the wall. 'Like the destiny that was supposed to be at the bottom of a cup of perpetual nothing?' he demanded. 'Know so much about me - then you must know I get _really violent _when I'm being played. It was you that sent me and Angel on the wild goose chase.'

'I don't know nothing about that,' _Doyle _pulled himself out from under Spike's grip. 'And I know better than to waste my time where Angel's concerned.'

Spike frowned, 'what do you mean?'

'Oh come on, Spike - you must know enough about the team to know I was once on it! Me and Cordy. We started the whole thing - the whole outfit. I get these visions - which is to say great, skull cracking headaches that come with pictures. Like when you eat ice cream too fast. Time was - I had the vision, and Angel slayed the beastie, or saved the damsel. He was the champion. Helping the hopeless - but now … now he's gone over to the enemy. To Wolfram and Hart. He now works for everything that he's supposed to stand against - and what am I meant to do? I'm still connected to the higher powers. And I do what they tell me. And right now - they're telling me this city is short of a champion … that's where you come in.'

'Look you're barking up the wrong vampire.'

'There's no one out there,' _Doyle_ argued, 'no one helping all the people that need help. And I still gotta see 'em - in my head - see the danger they're in, the pain. And there's no one to put it right. Not unless you step up to the plate.'

'So why don't _you_ save 'em?' Spike asked.

''Cause I'm just the messenger. You're the hero.'

'So what - I'm supposed to jump every time you get a vision of someone in dire peril?'

'Why do you think we're having this conversation?' _Doyle _asked him. 'I had one right before I came here. You don't have to believe me. But if a young girl gets murdered tonight, and you didn't lift a finger to stop it, ask yourself … can you live with that?'

* * *

The girl screamed as the vampire grabbed her and threw her against the wall, leaning in for the bite.

'Evening.' Spike walked down the alleyway towards them, moving slowly, casually - as if out for a pleasant stroll in the moonlight. The vampire leaned back from the girl and turned to look at this newcomer. 'Get lost.' he growled.

'Already am, according to some.'

'_What?'_

'Help me!' Cried the terrified girl, her eyes were wide with fright, imploring this man to do something - anything - to save her. Though he seemed in no hurry.

'I don't think you heard me,' the vampire said, 'get out of here.'

'Can't do it,' Spike shrugged.

The vampire grew impatient and pushed the girl away from himself before turning on Spike. 'You just made the biggest mistake of your life -'

Spike punched him in the face, knocking him into the little wooden stairway at the side of the alley. The force of the vampire hitting them caused the rails to splinter and Spike pushed the vampire back onto them, driving one through his heart via his back. The vampire exploded in a cloud of dust. Too easy. Barely a fight. But the girl was grateful. 'Thank you, thank you!' She cried, not quite believing her eyes, 'that thing was going to kill me.'

Terrified as she was, Spike fixed her with a hard stare - this was for her own good. 'Well what do you expect?' he asked her. 'Out alone in this neighbourhood - I got half a mind to kill you myself, you nitwit.'

The grateful look froze on her face and became confused, 'what?'

'I mean, honestly, what kind of _idiot _wears heels like that in a dark alley? Take two steps, break your bloody ankle.'

Now the girl was looking annoyed. 'I was just trying to get home!'

He grabbed her shoulder and ushered her down the alley and towards the brightly lit street. 'Well take a cab, you moron. And on the way, if a stranger offers you candy, don't get in the van!' The woman stalked off - highly offended - and Spike shook his head. 'Stupid cow,' he muttered.

'Believe me now?' he looked up. _Doyle_ was perched on the fire escape of the nearest building, wearing a smug smile on his face.

'What? Your victim vision? Please! Can't throw a stone in this city without hitting some bimbo in trouble.'

'Tough guy, huh?' _Doyle_ climbed down the fire escape and walked towards the vampire. 'Nice work by the way, taking out that vamp.'

Spike glanced scornfully around the alleyway, 'oh yeah. Epic battle. My finest hour.'

'You just saved a girl's life - that's nothing to laugh off. Though you could try being a little nicer next time - you almost made her cry.'

'Next time?' he said blankly.

_Doyle_ shrugged, 'well that's up to you. A lot more people need saving.'

But Spike only snorted in derision. He didn't need this guy's help - even if Angel had used to use him. Spike had been saving people long before Captain Forehead's sidekick decided to switch allegiances.

'Not like this,' _Doyle_ disagreed with him. 'You just saved somebody when there was nothing in it for you… that's not like the Spike I know.'

Spike took a step forward, menacing in the other man's face. 'Yeah? What Spike is that?'

But the other man did not seem bothered by the implied challenge. He only shrugged. 'The Spike that's only out for himself. The Spike that only does good deeds to impress… women.' There was a smirk on his face which suggested he knew exactly which woman was the only one who counted - the only one Spike wanted to impress. And that pissed Spike right off. That this guy knew about Buffy - would dare bring her into a conversation. 'You best watch your -'

But again, _Doyle_ didn't care for the threat. 'I'm just saying - you did good. If I remember rightly, Angel didn't save the girl his first night out.'

'What's Angel got to do with this?' Spike asked suspiciously.

'Well ... nothing … not anymore.'

* * *

The guys were still arguing. Angel now had his head in his hands - they just wouldn't stop - and he felt so heavy and tired. Fred came in carrying some files, 'guys, I can hear you out in the lobby.' She handed the files to Angel - they were the weekly lab reports. He took her from them and dropped them on his desk without looking. His eyes were too tired, his vision too blurry, to look at them now. Maybe after some rest.

'Fred doesn't the Wolfram and Hart satellite have lethal capabilities?' Wesley asked her. She looked startled - but she started to explain how the micro-orbital canon worked. It would focus the communication signals into a pinpoint beam and then raise the temperature of the targeted area by 1000 degrees in less than five seconds. So, yes, in theory they could do that - if they did that sort of thing. She glanced at Angel, 'do we do that sort of thing?' But he didn't seem to be listening.

His head was still in his hands - and he wasn't really following. His friend's voices sounded distant and muffled, as they argued about whether or not anyone would notice them using a death ray from space. Angel felt like he was being targeted by focused beams - that his temperature was being raised by 1000 degrees, his mind was foggy, his head was swimming and his friends wouldn't quit arguing and he'd suddenly had enough.

'Kill them all,' he said loudly. The arguing stopped and everyone turned to look at him.

'What?' Fred asked him.

'Warlocks, minions - they're all evil. Sold their kids to the devil. Let's just wipe 'em all out. We got the power to do that, right?'

'Yes,' Wes agreed dubiously, 'but Angel...'

Angel got to his feet - he felt warm all over now. Enervated, charged up - fizzy, but the bone deep weariness was just beneath. It felt like a final rally before inevitable death, but he was going to use the energy whilst he had it. 'Why don't we? Let's just get back to the basics. Good vs evil. Offing the monsters where we find them.'

'We have to tread light, here, Angel,' Gunn told him. 'We can't afford to … are you alright?'

Angel was now rubbing his head. His brow was clammy and the sudden feverish energy had left him, leaving him feeling more drained than ever. He sank back into his chair. 'I'm just … tired. Gunn arrange a meeting with your best Judas. Feel him out but don't tip your hand. Any hint that he's carrying word back to Drake, we go with Wes' plan.'

But his friends were now more concerned about him. He didn't look well at all. He tried to assure them that he just needed rest.

'Go - get some rest,' Fred said to him, 'maybe sleep in tomorrow.' But he shook his head - there was too much to do. But Wesley assured him there was nothing the rest of them couldn't handle. 'I'll take Connor home with me tonight, if you like,' he offered. 'That way you can rest as long as you need.'

Angel nodded gratefully, and stumbled towards his private elevator.

* * *

He staggered out into his penthouse and began to limp towards the bed - but everything hurt. '_Angel-' he stopped. He hadn't realised there was someone here. Then he saw Wes, of course - he was getting Connor's things. 'Hey Wes.'_

'_You're barely on your feet,' he sounded concerned, and he took hold of Angel's arm guiding him towards the couch, supporting his steps. _

'_I -uh - I think I'm sick.'_

'_Vampires don't get sick.'_

'_I don't feel right.' He groaned as he sat down on the couch - everything hurt. The world was spinning. _

'_Well that's understandable,' Wesley said to him. 'You've got a lot on your mind. Must be hard adjusting to this new situation.'_

'_Situation?' _

'_Finally coming to grips with the truth … that you're irrelevant.'_

'_What?' Angel gasped, not really understanding what Wesley was saying. _

'_It's difficult to face I know, but things could have been much worse. Spike's arrival was actually quite fortuitous.' Wesley took a sharpened stake from out of his waistband. 'It makes this a lot easier.'_

'_What? - what are you…' _

_Wesley drove the stake deep into Angel's heart and Angel screamed out in pain. _And then came to, sitting on the edge of his bed - alone in his apartment, and gasping in shock.


	39. Soul Purpose: Part Two

_Part Two_

A man and a woman huddled behind a car, keeping low, as the sounds of fighting emanated from the other end of the alleyway. They had been attacked by these … things, with messed up faces and more strength than was possible. But then a guy had come from nowhere - had pulled their attackers away from them - and now the couple hid, as they waited for their saviour to finish the job.

...

Spike was having himself a real good time. There were two of them - two against one. He preferred steeper odds to really get the adrenaline pumping, but after months and months of incorporeality - just beating on these two sods felt really good. He jumped on to the top of the car and kicked one of the vampires in the face, his coat billowed around him as he moved. The vampire fell to the floor and he dove of the car roof and pounced on him.

Back down on the ground, both vampires began to batter him again - and he struck out with his fists and his feet, kicking and punching and driving them backwards. Then he dropped down low, crouching, and scissored his leg out, sweeping it round to take out the vampire's ankles.

Just as he stood back up - both vampires rushed him once, running towards him from opposite sides. He stood quite still and then - at the last moment - flicked out his wrists, releasing the hidden stakes holstered there, and plunging them deep into the vampire's hearts. Both vampire's screamed and exploded into dust.

Spike glanced down at his wrist holsters, smirking. He was impressed with how they'd worked. And it had looked cool - he was sure of that. Then he looked up and caught sight of the couple still crouching behind the car. 'It's alright, you're safe now,' he told them.

They got to their feet, slowly. 'What were those things?' the woman asked.

'You're better off not knowing - believe me.' He turned and started to walk away down the alley.

'Wait - who are you?'

'I'm the hero,' he replied, without looking back.

* * *

Doyle glanced at Cordelia - what must have been his millionth worried glance of the morning. She looked dreadful, her skin was wan; pale and washed out and she had dark circles under her eyes. And the way she was moving wasn't right either - there was none of her high energy, bouncing around. She was so slow and sluggish and she looked completely drained.

'Uh - are you sure you're feelin' alright this mornin'?' he asked her. She yawned. 'I'm OK…' even her voice sounded flat. 'I'm just having trouble getting started.'

'Are you sick?'

She shook her head, slow and listless. 'No - I didn't sleep well last night.'

'Oh - well, if you're tired, then you should go back to bed. There's no need for you to get up if you're not ready. I can handle everythin' we got goin' on. Really - get some rest.'

But she shook her head again.

'Princess…' he started to say, but she cut him off. 'I don't wanna rest,' she said. 'I don't wanna try and sleep. If I sleep then…' she stopped talking as her bottom lip trembled and she had to inhale sharply to stop herself from starting to cry.

'Then what?' he sat down at the table next to her and reached out to stroke her face, his own crumpled with worry.

'I just kept hearing it,' she said, gritting her teeth as she talked. 'All last night, as I slept - that creepy laugh, it followed me around my dreams.' She closed her eyes and her face seemed to cave in on itself as she began to cry. 'I'm sorry,' she gasped. 'I'm just so tired - but when I was asleep it wouldn't go away. I ran and I ran - all night I was running - but it followed me everywhere. And everywhere I went, in my dreams, demons would come out of the woodwork. And I couldn't fight them, there were just so many - and then they would vanish and turn up somewhere else - and that laughter just wouldn't go away.'

'I'm sorry,' he leaned forward and kissed her, 'it was only a dream - you're safe now.'

But she shook her head. 'No! It was happening for real last night - you saw. There's something in my head and I don't know what it is or how to get rid of it or...'

'Hey hey, shush,' he kissed her again, on the forehead and then on the lips. 'We'll figure this out,' he promised her, 'you believe me?'

She sniffed, stifling her tears and then nodded her head.

'Good. Tell you what. Why don't I go and get you a decent coffee - anythin' you want - and a fresh pastry. You stay here, have a shower - I'll put the T.V on so you don't fall asleep. And then once you've had your coffee and are feelin' better, we'll get into serious research mode, OK?'

She nodded again. He gave her a final kiss and then got up from his chair and switched the television on. 'Look - Oprah's on - that OK?' She nodded again, and he left the sitting room and headed to the bathroom, switching the shower on and waiting for it to get hot. Once it was ready, he ushered her into the bathroom - then went to the bedroom and selected some clothes for her to put on, so she didn't have to think about it - just jogging bottoms and a t-shirt - something she would be comfy in, and then he headed out to get her a caramel and hazelnut latte with extra whipped cream.

* * *

Wesley approached the front desk with inter-office mail in his hand. 'Harmony, I need you to run these to accounting,' he said to the secretary. 'Tell them it's about the warlock situation.'

But Harmony didn't take the envelope from him. 'I'm not allowed to talk to accounting without Angel's approval,' she explained to the watcher, 'I accidentally authorised a few bath-of-the month subscriptions. By accident!'

But Wesley needed this doing - and Angel was indisposed. He handed her the envelope. 'Give them my authorisation code,' he told her, 'and have them cut a cheque immediately.'

The elevator bell rang and Lilah stepped out, just overhearing the last of the conversation. 'That's the spirit,' she smiled her shark's smile. 'Solve problems by throwing money at them. You know you really are getting the hang of this place, my Wesley, it's like you always belonged here.'

He didn't return the smile. 'Is there something I can help you with, Lilah?'

She held out the object she carried in her hand - it was a fragment of tablet with strange runes carved into it. 'Well, technically I'm supposed to give this to the big man - but we both know he's got all the knowledge of a monkey trying to play the trumpet when it comes to runic tablets.' She handed the fragment over to Wes. 'The Senior Partners are very interested in this. I don't know what it is and frankly, I get the impression they don't either. But they must suspect it's powerful because they're chomping at the bit to learn whatever they can about it. Now they told me to give it to Angel but…'

'Angel's indisposed,' Wesley told her. She smiled, 'and even if he weren't, he'd only hand it straight over to you. So let's just cut out the middle-vampire. Tag - you're it. Oh - and I suppose it goes without saying...'

'I'll let you know what I find as soon as possible,' he assured her. She smiled again. 'You never disappoint me, Wes.' She walked away and Wesley watched her go - not meaning to - just forgetting to take his eyes off her. He was interrupted by Harmony, leaning over the desk and hissing at him. 'Anything from The Senior Partners and I'm supposed to tell Angel immediately,' she said.

'I'll take care of it.'

'Also - any time something comes in with runes on it - I'm supposed to tell Angel immediately. And not try to read the runes myself … 'cause that can cause a fire.'

'As soon as we have some answers, we'll fill in him. Until then, I think Angel deserves some peace and quiet.'

* * *

Cordelia had showered and pulled on the comfy clothes Doyle had left out for her - but she still didn't feel any better. Her head ached from tiredness, her eyes felt all scratchy and she just felt weary all over; her limbs were heavy and her mood was listless and all over miserable. She sat watching the T.V - not really taking it in. The Oprah show was coming to an end - and it was the 'remembering your spirit' segment and Oprah had brought on a pastor, who was explaining to the audience how the secret of remaining in touch with your inner sense of self, and with God, was to find your inner joyfulness - and to always remember to laugh.

Cordy rubbed her face, trying to rid herself of the weariness - but it didn't work. There was no way she was going to find her inner joyfulness feeling like this - and no chance she was going to lau-

She heard it again. The creepy chuckle that had haunted her last night and then followed her in her dreams. She sat up straight - tensed and ready to fight. 'Hello?' she called out. She heard it again - coming from over by the kitchen. She muted the T.V - and got off the sofa - and headed across to the apartment to see if she couldn't find the source of this mysterious noise.

* * *

'_Angel?' Angel lay in his bed, he still didn't feel right - he was still aching and feverish and had been left all alone. But now he could hear a soft, gentle voice calling to him - someone had finally arrived to see how he was. _

_Fred appeared in the doorway, saw him still in bed and stared down at him, nervously. 'You look terrible,' she told him. She walked closer towards him._

'_Fred, I think something's wrong,' he gasped out. She was stood right by his bed now, looking down at him. 'OK, OK, don't worry, I know what to do.' She turned away from him for a moment, and when she turned back she was snapping on a latex glove. 'Let's take a look under the hood.' _

_She walked round to the other side of his bed - except now she had her lab coat on, and surgical gloves on both hands - and they weren't in his bedroom anymore - a lab had appeared, there were all sorts of machines, whirring and hissing, and cold storage with things floating inside jars. He lay on his bed and stared up at her helplessly, 'what are you -'._

'_It's OK,' she reached across to a trolley laden with medical instruments, and Angel's eyes followed her as she chose a scalpel and then brought it down to his chest. 'No - please.'_

_She touched the blade to his skin - and pressed down. He gasped out in pain as she sliced down his abdomen, creating an incision. 'Hmm, there - that wasn't so bad was it?' she asked. She peered inside his chest cavity. 'OK let's get these things out of the way.' _

'_Please - stop. Fred...' _

_But she stuck her hand right inside of him and pulled out what looked like a rubbery piece of meat. 'That's your liver,' she said, tossing it into a bucket and then stuck her hand in once more. This time she pulled out two internal organs - these ones round and flat. 'And these are your kidneys.' Into the bucket they went. Angel cried out again. 'Oh don't worry, you're a vampire, you don't need this stuff anyway. You should probably have had it removed years ago.' Then she noticed something and peered in for a closer look, before reaching back inside and pulling something small and shrivelled out. 'There's your heart.' She laughed. 'What do you know- it really is a dried up walnut.' Angel squinted at it - she was right. It was a walnut. She threw it in the bucket - and it made a loud clanging noise as it hit the metal. _

'_So far, so good - let's see,' she reached inside - this time her entire arm disappeared inside him - right up to her shoulder. Then she pulled out a string of pearls and wrapped them twice around her neck, looking very pleased with her acquisition. She spotted something else and took it out, but this she put straight in her mouth. 'Raisins.' Then she pulled out a piece of metal - a rusted and battered, Mexican license plate. 'Came up the Gulf Stream, huh?' She tossed it over her shoulder._

_Angel just watched in confused horror as she pulled object after object out of his chest. _

'_Oh,' she had reached in again - and was now reaching in as far as she could go, making Angel wince. 'Oh - hang on.' Angel gasped in pain as she pulled a goldfish bowl out of him. 'There's your soul!' The water was dark and murky - and the goldfish was floating upside down. 'We're gonna have to flush this.' _

_She turned around and handed the goldfish bowl to a man in a bear suit who had appeared behind her. 'Thank you, bear.' Then she turned back to Angel and sighed. 'Huh!'_

'_What's wrong?' he asked anxiously._

'_Nothing. I can't seem to find anything wrong with you. I mean - except that you're empty. There's nothing left, just a shell.' She put her ear to his chest. 'I think I can hear the ocean in there!' She stared down into the cavity she had opened - seeing the nothingness going right the way down to forever. 'Hello?' she called out, her voice echoing like she was calling down a well, 'hello?' _Angel couldn't move - and just lay on his bed, groaning feverishly, his eyes tightly closed.

* * *

Doyle pushed back the underground door into the apartment, 'here you go, darlin' coffee and a …' he stopped and stared around in horror. The whole place had been smashed up - the wooden furniture was in splinters, the couch was upended, the doors were hanging off their frames - and all the plates in the kitchen had been smashed on the floor.

Cordelia was stood in the middle of the room, battling it out with one of the pillars - which just stood there and took the punishment. She swung a sword at it. 'Why won't you die?' she screamed at it, tears were streaming down her face and she was panting and gasping as she fought this inanimate object.

'Cordy, sweetheart…'

She turned round - saw him - and screamed, swinging her sword right at his head. He ducked and hit the deck, the coffee he had just bought hit the ground and spilled out - and the blade whistled harmlessly past his head. 'Cordelia - it's me - it's me!' he yelled. But she didn't seem to hear him - and came racing towards him sword raised. He tried to scooch backwards, holding his arms up as some weak form of protection, and twisted his head away to brace for the attack. Her foot hit the warm puddle of coffee pooled there - and she slipped, going over backwards and landing on her back.

He immediately jumped up and went over to her - but she screamed again when she saw him - tears of terror still tracking down her pale face. 'No get off - get off,' she cried, as he knelt down and tried to take hold of her. She wriggled and writhed and tried to push him away.

'Cordy - Cordy!' but he couldn't get through to her. She was crying and twisting away, 'no, no, no,' she moaned.

'Cordelia!' he hated to do it - but he could see no other way. He took a deep breath, steeled himself - and then raised his hand and slapped her across the face. She went limp in his arms and stopped screaming, though she was still crying. 'Cordelia, darlin',' he said softly, there were tears in his eyes as he looked at her - as he saw the red handprint on her face that he had put there, and as he watched her distress and fear, and felt so helpless and unable to make it right. 'Cordelia, love, it's me - do you recognise me?' He pushed her hair back gently, and cupped her face so she was looking at him.

'Doyle?' her voice was small and scared. 'They're everywhere - they're coming out of the walls - I can't stop them.' Her face crumpled and she began to cry in earnest.

'Demons?' he asked her, softly. She nodded her head. 'Don't you see them?'

He wrapped her tightly in his arms, and held her against him, rocking slightly with her as she cried. 'There's nothing here, love,' he told her, his voice gentle - but heartbroken. 'It's just you and me… Did the laughter come back?'

She nodded her head again. 'It was all over the apartment - I couldn't find it - it moved around and around - and then ... they came. Out of everywhere. The walls. The floor - all kinds of demons. And they were so strong and…' she gave a gasp and began to cry again.

Doyle held her even more tightly, hugging her fiercely and kissing her on her temple. He gazed around the room, taking in the devastation to their home. 'It's gonna be OK,' Princess,' he promised.

'It's not,' she cried. 'I can't make it stop.' her voice sounded so strained, so tired, and her face was the same. She looked and sounded worn out and utterly broken. 'It just won't stop. Doyle, what's happening to me?'

He heard the catch in her voice, the little tremble of fear. He kissed her again. 'I don't know, darlin' - but I'm gonna find out, and I'm gonna make you right. I promise.'

They stayed down on the floor, his arms wrapped tight around her and he cradled her until she was calm again. And then - after what felt like hours - he helped her back to her feet and, supporting her the whole way, took her back upstairs so he could start researching ways to cure her.

* * *

Wesley and Fred were in Wes' office, examining the relic Lilah had given him. 'She didn't say much else,' he told Fred, 'only that it needed to be done as soon as possible.'

There was a knock on the open door, and Gunn came in carrying a report. 'You guys are gonna wanna see this,' he told them, handing the paper over to Wesley. 'Been getting reports of a vigilante prowling the streets last night - a vampire apparently.'

Wesley and Fred both frowned, and Wes scanned the reports. 'Angel never left his penthouse,' he said, then began to read an excerpt of the text. 'Vigilante reportedly killed two vampires at a gas station and then asked the women he'd saved if they'd - quote - "like to get a bottle of hooch and listen to some Sex Pistols records with him".'

Fred's frown grew even deeper, and she glanced between the two men. 'Are we sure Angel's just tired and not, um … crazy?'

'Read the description,' Gunn suggested. Wes' eyes scanned the page until he found what he was looking for. 'Medium build, black leather coat … platinum blonde hair.' He looked up at the others - and they all sighed.

* * *

_Doyle _led Spike down some steps and opened the door at the bottom of it, entering into a basement flat. Spike hung back at the threshold. 'You need to invite me in,' he said. The other man turned back to look at him, 'it's not my place - it's yours,' he said. Spike stepped through the door - and sure enough, there was no barrier.

'Building's quiet, windows don't get direct sunlight. You've got sewer entrance for your daytime travels.'

'What no cable?'

_Doyle_ laughed. 'You've got water, electricity, heating . All the basics. You even got a Korean market on the corner. Open all night.'

Spike looked round the place, a sardonic eyebrow raised. 'Look, I appreciate everything you've done for me - making me corporeal and all. Now maybe Angel liked to be taken care of, but me? I draw the line at being your kept boy.' He turned and started heading back towards the door.

'Oh - you got somewhere else to live?' _Doyle_ called after him. Spike came to a stop and, behind him, the other man smirked to himself. 'I mean, a man of your means must have money tucked away somewhere. You'll find something soon… I'm offering you a place to hang your hat... Or your coat. Could say thank you.'

Spike headed back into the apartment, shaking his head as he looked around its small confines. It was gloomy and poky - and didn't really have more than one room. There was a kitchenette in the corner, and a small table with two chairs. There was a sofa against the wall and - visible in what could generously be called the 'bedroom', but was really just a more distant part of the same room - was a bedstead and a chest of drawers. 'Great - another ruddy basement.'

'You want creature comforts - go to Wolfram and Hart. This place has everything you need to be a hero. The job requires somewhat of a ... Spartan existence.'

Spartan was one bloody way of putting it. Depressing was another. Spike pointed at the miserable excuse for a single bed. 'You call that a bed?' he demanded.

But _Doyle_ only smiled, 'not like you're gonna be sharing it with anyone any time soon.'

Spike raised his eyebrow. Another oblique reference to Buffy - and how far away she was, and how slayer whipped Spike still was. This git had better bite his tongue if he didn't want to lose his teeth. 'Speaking of bed sharing,' he said, instead, 'what does Cordelia think of this cosy little arrangement you're setting up for me? Would have thought she'd be here to bake a 'welcome home' cake for me or put down a few throw pillows or something.'

_Doyle's_ expression became troubled. 'Cordelia still hasn't come to terms with what it means that Angel works for Wolfram and Hart now. She still thinks he's a champion … maybe Cordy doesn't need to know that the PTB have moved on without him just yet?'

'Well - my my - isn't this a tangled web we weave?'

'The righteous shall walk a thorny path.'

* * *

Angel lay on his back - still feverish, his forehead still clammy with cold sweat. His bones still ached and he moaned with the pain, writhing under the covers _until he became aware of moaning and writhing going on right next to him. He rolled over - the blankets seemed to go on for miles - but eventually he saw Spike, in the bed beside him - naked - and moving rhythmically on top of …_

'_Spike?' He peered at him, blearily - squinting his eyes. The other vampire looked over at him, but didn't stop moving up and down. 'Keep it down mate, you've got something on your shirt there.' _

_Angel glanced down to look at his shirt, to see what Spike was talking about - but that's when he heard her voice. 'Every time I say the word Prom, you get grouchy.'_

'_Buffy?' he leaned over trying to see her, but she kept her face turned away from him. Her hands rubbed up and down Spike's arms, caressing his muscles as he worked away on top of her._

'_Won't be long now,' Spike said - and Angel wasn't entirely sure exactly what it was he was referring to. 'You're taking Buffy to the prom?' he asked, in confusion. _

'_can you say jumping the gun, I killed my goldfish,' Buffy said._

'_I thought we we're going to...'_

'_Shhh,' Spike hissed at him. 'I can't be the marathon man with all your yammering.' Well, there was no mistaking what that meant - and Angel just stared at the two of them, hurt and confused, as they made love to each other in his bed._

He woke up with a start - and realised he was alone. He sighed with relief and rolled over, _sitting up and letting his feet hit the floor for the first time in what seemed like days._

_..._

_The elevator door opened up and he stepped out into the lobby, meeting Fred who smiled at him. 'Hey, look who it is, how are you feeling?'_

'_Better, thanks.'_

'_Uh,' she laughed, 'Angel,' she pointed down to his feet. He looked down - they were bare. He'd not put his shoes on - just come down here straight from bed. He was still in yesterday's shirt, even. 'Oh,' he looked embarrassed, 'I...'_

_Fred laughed again. 'Always takes me a few days to get back in the swing of things myself. You should put a new shirt on though...'_

_Gunn ran up to them, his face shining with excitement. 'Come on, guys, you'll miss it.' He and Fred went over to the concession stand where Harmony's desk usually was - and got popcorn and soda - and then headed into Angel's office. Angel looked round the lobby, noticing it had a much more carnival atmosphere than normal - there were neon lights and stalls selling 3d glasses and glowsticks. 'Miss what?' he called out after them - and followed them into his own office. _

_It was crowded in there, and dark. He looked around - he'd never seen it so full. 'What's everyone…' he heard a distant explosion and turned to look out the window - and realised they were all staring at a fiery, apocalyptic downtown Los Angeles. 'Oh my god,' he stumbled towards the window, staring out in horror._

'_Hey - down in front,' Lorne called out. _

'_Yeah, Angel - you're blocking the apocalypse.' Harmony sounded annoyed. He turned to look at everyone gathered there. 'I have to do something, I have to get out there.' _

'_Don't worry, Spike will take care of it,' Wesley told him, taking a handful of popcorn._

'_Yeah, you should go back to bed,' Gunn agreed - his eyes fixed on the show outside the window, also calmly eating popcorn as if this were the movies and the apocalypse just an action film._

'_Yeah - or at least go put some clean clothes on,' Lorne said. 'You got a little something on your shirt there, babe.' _

_Angel looked down - and saw a bloody stake sticking out of his heart. He looked up in distress - he could feel the sucking wound cloying against his skin - _and as he lay on his bed, a blueish, slimy creature sat on his chest - right above his heart - suckered to his skin, feeding.

* * *

Cordelia was lying on the green sofa again, her eyes closed, and whimpering occasionally. Doyle was sat at the desk - his computer on - but he didn't know what to look up or where to start. He'd already tried laughing demons and shapeshifting demons the night before and had no luck at all. He was beginning to worry that this was something else, and that - whatever it was - he might not be able to find it on the net.

His eyes travelled across the room and settled on the bookshelf on the next door office, where they kept all of Wesley's old library. There was more on this earth than just demons - and whatever this thing was, it was inside Cordy's head - not out in the world where he could fight it. If he needed to broaden his research, to start looking amongst other types of otherworldly creatures for the answer - then he might need to dive into the old books. But that was an even more daunting task than searching the entire demon database. He had no idea which book to start with. He had no idea how to help Cordy. He was starting to think he wasn't even the best person to try...

Lying on the sofa - a damp cloth over her eyes - Cordy heard the laugh again, sinister and snickering, right in her ear. She sat up with a gasp and ripped the cloth from her face - staring around in alarm. Doyle looked over at her, worried, 'Cordy what is…'

There was a tap on the door - and then it opened. Doyle took his eyes off Cordy - just for a moment - distracted for only a moment - as he looked to see who it was. A UPS delivery guy stepped inside. 'Hi - I have a package for Dr. Folger but he's not in. Could I maybe…'

On the sofa, Cordelia screamed - and jumped to her feet. She launched herself at the delivery guy - whaling on him, punching and kicking, beating him as if he were a demon or vampire she'd met out on patrol . Doyle didn't even have time to think - to stop and consider. Cordy was a slayer - she couldn't be allowed to beat on a regular guy - she'd kill him - without meaning to. But he didn't even think all that - not consciously. He just morphed into his spikes and jumped out from behind the desk, leaping across the room. He landed and grabbed Cordelia around her waist dragging her back and hurling her away from the delivery guy. It was lucky she was so drained and exhausted, she fell away easily - though under normal circumstances Doyle would have trouble restraining her. He pushed her away and stepped between her and the delivery man - and then braced, as she regained her footing.

She turned back and came face to face with Doyle; screaming again, when she saw him - and it must have been bad for her, after so many imagined demons to have a real one stood right in front of her. She ran towards him - and, again without thinking or hesitating, he acted; grabbing the fire extinguisher, raising it high - and swinging it at her head with all his might. There was a horrible, hollow ringing sound as the metal met her skull. She fell to the ground, knocked out cold - and he let it drop from his hands. The hollow metal clang rang out again - and in his mind, it sounded like the audible manifestation of a heart made hollow with shame. Then his red eyes met the terrified eyes of the delivery guy - the guy stared at him for a moment of frozen horror, taking in his green skin and blue spikes - and then turned and fled.

Left alone, Doyle switched back into his human face - and stared down at his girlfriend, whom he'd been forced to beat unconscious. The shame cut into his heart again. With his insides churning, and black guilt biting into his soul like a cancer, he picked Cordelia up and carried her back downstairs.


	40. Soul Purpose: Part Three

_Part Three_

_Sunlight streamed through the office windows, once again. Fred was holding a cake, decorated with a picture of a fiery Los Angeles and daubed with the words 'Way to Go Spike', she was surrounded by Lilah and Harmony and all of the guys - even Doyle was there - and they were all singing 'for he's a jolly good fellow!' Grinning wildly._

'which nobody can deny!' _they finished the chorus and began to cheer and clap. Wesley blew one of those party favour noisemakers - where the curled up streamer rolled out. 'Speech', he cried out 'speech!' and everyone joined in._

_Angel stood by the door and watched. No one had even noticed him standing there - they were all too busy fixating on the man of the moment. _

_Spike was standing in front of the adoring crowd, looking overwhelmed at this outpouring of love. 'Well this is - uh,' he began modestly, 'thank you everyone. I don't know what to say.' Everyone laughed - and he grinned along with them. 'I'm just a working class bloke fulfilling his destiny. It was nothing really.'_

'_Nothing?' Fred cried out in surprise. 'Spike - you single-handedly ended Armageddon and turned the world into a beautiful, happily-ever-after, candy mountain place where all our dreams come true.' She gestured towards the window, to where the sun was streaming through, and everyone else followed suit; sweeping their arms towards the window to present Spike with the grand view of all he'd achieved. There was now a pink palace - like Sleeping Beauty's castle - where once there had been skyscrapers and seven elevens and parking lots. The sky was a perfect blue and the castle sat amongst green, rolling hills. _

_Spike smiled bashfully when he saw what he had accomplished. 'Beautiful isn't it?'_

'_The living end!' Gunn told him. _

'_Like Tír na nÓg,' Doyle nodded. _

'_And now... it's time for your reward.'_

'_Yes. Your reward!' Wesley pointed at the champion vampire. Spike shook his head, looking surprised. 'But I didn't do this for a reward,' he said, earnestly. _

'_Well, that's why you're getting one,' Gunn smiled at him. There was a delighted intake of breath from the whole crowd as the blue fairy floated through the office, the people parting like the sea to let her through._

'_After all - anyone who saves the universe from eternal bloodshed, horror and misery deserves to get what they've always wanted,' Wesley said. Fred was smiling so wide it was like her face was splitting in two. 'Deserves to become a real boy,' she said warmly. _

'_And so you shall!' The blue fairy waved her magic wand over Spike, scattering golden fairy dust all over him. Angel stood alone by the door and watched in disappointment as the glitter settled on Spike's skin. _

_Spike breathed in - and put a hand to his chest. 'My heart, it's …' he turned back to the crowd__ \- his face lit up with joy and wonder. 'It's beating again. Listen!' Fred ran over and put her ear to his chest. 'You're alive, Spike!'_

_Angel put his hand to his own chest - and felt the empty nothing; the hollow lack of warmth and redemption. But everyone else was too busy crowding round Spike and congratulating him to notice Angel. 'Ooh - I wanna hear!' Gunn called out, and like Fred had before, pressed his ear to Spike's chest to listen to his heart beat. _

'_Let's hear it for Spike!' Wesley called out. _

'_Hip Hip Hooray!' The crowd gave Spike his three cheers and banged their hands together, wolf whistling and catcalling. _

_Angel looked down sadly, to where his hand still rested over his still and lifeless heart. His shirt had changed - it was short sleeved and cheap polyester, buttoned right the way to the top and too tight about his collar. His cheap, nylon tie was too short. He turned away from the celebrating crowd and the now human Spike, and saw his mail cart waiting for him. Consigned to his fate, he pushed the mail cart away down the hallway, ready to deliver letters to the people who still mattered._

* * *

Spike answered the knock at the door and raised an eyebrow when he saw Wesley and Gunn standing at the other side. 'Well - look who's come to call: Crockett and Tubbs.' He turned away from them and headed for the fridge. 'Come on in, boys, out of the cold and damp. Suppose I should have expected a visit from Big Brother's L.A branch.' He opened the fridge and grabbed himself a beer. 'Can I get you a frosty?'

The two men stepped inside, their demeanour was not friendly and they did not respond to his question. He shrugged and sat down at the table, swigging from the bottle.

'What are you up to, Spike?' Gunn asked him. He raised his eyebrow again. 'Man gets right to the meat of the existential nut, doesn't he?'

'Just a little concerned. You don't call. You don't write. What's your angle? Last time we saw you, you were booking a one-way to the continent.'

'Change of plans,' Spike shrugged, taking another drink. 'Change of heart, changed my mind, mates.'

'Sounds like you've been busy,' Wesley told him, 'we've had reports of a vigilante matching your description.'

Spike smirked - yeah, that was what they did wasn't it? Got reports. Signed cheques. Read memos. 'How'd you find me anyway?'

'Wasn't hard - put a couple of psychics on it this afternoon,' Gunn said. Then he got to the crux of the matter - it sounded like Spike was out there fighting the good fight. And they figured that was their territory.

'So what? You're annoyed 'cause I stepped on your toesies?'

But that wasn't it at all - quite the contrary, in fact. They were only wondering why Spike had left Wolfram and Hart in the first place. If he wanted to save the world, they had the resources to do it.

Spike let out a bark of laughter, 'no offence, Mr. Vader, but I've got no itch to join the evil empire.'

'It's different,' Gunn told him, 'you know it - we've changed things.'

Spike sighed. 'Look - I told it to Angel and I'll tell it to you. A place like that doesn't change, not from the inside, not from the out. You sign on there, it changes you.' He fixed Gunn with a hard stare, 'puts things in your head,' he said meaningfully. 'Spins your compass needle around until you can't cross the street without tripping the proverbial old lady and stepping on her glasses. And it's not like I wasn't there, gents. Wasn't watching you. I had to haunt the damn place, remember?' He took another deep swig of beer.

Gunn and Wesley glanced at each other, awkwardly. 'Things aren't that cut and dried, Spike,' Gunn tried to tell him. 'We're making a difference - we're just playing by a new set of rules.'

'So what? You want me to put on a suit … come play with you?'

'Something like that,' Wesley agreed.

That made Spike laugh again. 'I can't believe Angel would sign off on that…' he caught the almost imperceptible glance between Wes and Gunn - and realised the truth. 'Unless - he doesn't know you're here does he?' He smirked. 'Well isn't this a bad day for former allies turning on Angel? Starting to think maybe he's not the main player in town. Hedging our bets are we boys?'

'It's not like that,' Gunn said - as Wesley's cell phone began to ring. Wes stepped out of the conversation to answer the phone, but he could still hear Spike's reply: 'and the compass needle keeps spinning. And the world gets murkier and murkier.'

...

'Wes, man!' Doyle's frightened voice came over the line.

'Doyle, what is it?' Behind him, he was aware of Gunn suddenly paying attention to the phone call - even Spike seemed to be interested.

'I need you to come down to the office - the whole team. There's somethin' wrong with Cordy and I can't put it right. Please…'

'We'll be there right away,' Wesley assured him, 'hang on.' He hung up the phone and looked at Gunn. 'Cordelia's in some sort of trouble - we need to get down to their office. Ring Fred and Lorne for me.' The two men turned to leave the basement apartment, Gunn already getting his cell out to call Fred.

Spike watched them go, craning his neck to follow them, as they disappeared through the door. 'Oi - what's that all about?' he yelled after them - but they didn't answer or look back.

* * *

Lilah sat down at the table in the little cafe and crossed her long legs, she smiled across at her conspirator, her most wolfish grin. 'So how are things going your end?' she asked.

'The daft little limey bought every word,' Lindsey smiled. 'He hasn't sewn a big red S to his chest yet, but he's getting there.'

'And he actually believes you're the halfbreed?'

'Hasn't thought to question it. The real Doyle and he only met very briefly several years ago - and I worked very hard to play the part of Cordelia's doting boyfriend at the Halloween party. Danced with her, bought her a drink - stayed in Spike's eyeline the whole time. He never got close to the real Doyle. Won't remember him at all. What about your end - you sure they're not checking up on Angel?'

She laughed. 'Between warlocks, relics and the fact that they all just hared off out of the building a while ago - no one has given the dark avenger a second thought in hours.'

'Good - 'cause we need to do this right. I wanna wear down Angel - I wanna build up Spike and I wanna make sure that son of a bitch pays for what he did last year.'

'You know,' she took a sip of her coffee and looked at him over the rim of the cup. 'No matter how bad you hurt Angel, it will never bring Kate back, won't really make up for what you've lost.'

'No,' he agreed, 'Katie's not coming back. I know that. But I can still make sure the son of a bitch who killed her doesn't have his past washed clean, his sins forgiven and doesn't get to live a mortal life with his friends and his son - and maybe a woman he loves. Not when he took that from me and Katie. I knew - as soon as the sun came back - that they'd find a way to stop Angelus, and forgive Angel for everything he'd done. That they'd forget about Kate. I knew it. And I decided then that I'd find a way to put a stop to it.'

'Which is why you sent the amulet to The Senior Partners,' Lilah said, 'without giving them the full fact check on what it did.' Lindsey nodded. 'They wanted to stop this rogue apocalypse - I gave them the means to do it. They didn't even think to check the fine print. I figured Angel would wear it in the big fight - and be killed, his essence trapped forever in the bottom of the hellmouth. A fitting end for him - no afterlife, no reward. No one would ever really know what had become of him. But then he didn't wear it.'

'Foiled again.'

'But this way is even sweeter,' he argued. 'I didn't know about the existence of another vampire with a soul until after the fight went down. Now there's two of them in line for the Shanshu prophecy - and I get to make sure Angel never fulfils it, whilst he has to watch Spike get everything he's ever worked for.'

'And I suppose it's just the icing on the cake that Spike is in love with Buffy?'

Lindsey smiled and shrugged. 'The way I see it - whoever wins the Shanshu wins the girl. And whoever loses - loses everything. So - it's real important that we start tearing Angel down.' He took a wooden box out from under the table. Lilah reached out and placed her hand on top of it, smiling. 'This is the mother?' she asked.

'If the baby has got him scrambling - this will just about finish him. Do you know how you'll get it on him without him realising?'

'I have a plan.' She picked up the box, stood up and started to walk out of the cafe.

'Hey Lilah,' Lindsey called out after her. She stopped and looked back at him. 'I know why I'm doing this,' he said, 'but what's in it for you?'

Lilah smiled down at the box in her hand. 'Honestly? I just enjoy screwing with the guy…'

* * *

Wesley and Gunn pulled up outside the old Angel Investigations building at the same time as Fred and Lorne arrived, tumbling out of their own car. 'What's going on?' Fred asked, her voice high with worry. 'Charles said something about Cordy…'

'We don't know any more than you do,' Wes said, his own voice was terse. He led them into the office block. 'Doyle just rang, in a panic, begging for our help.' He opened the door to the outer office and, finding it empty, walked on through to Angel's old office. 'Hello?' he called out, 'Doyle, Cordy?' the others crowded in after him.

'We're down here!' they heard Doyle's strained voice call out from down in the apartment - and Wesley led the way down the stairs. It had been a long time since he had been here - it felt both alien and completely familiar at the same time. But he came to a startled stop when he reached the bottom of the stairs - there was nothing familiar in this scene.

'Jumping Jehosaphat,' he heard Lorne breathe, behind him, and he knew the rest of his friends were staring around in shock at the devastation that met their eyes. 'What happened here?' Fred asked, looking at the smashed plates and the wrecked furniture.

'Cordelia happened,' Doyle said, coming out of the bedroom. 'Thanks for comin', man,' he said to Wesley, 'I was goin' crazy, I didn't know what to do for the best.'

'What's up?' Gunn asked him, 'place looks like a tornado blew through.'

Doyle took a deep breath and - casting many worried glances back in the direction of the bedroom - proceeded to tell his friends about the mysterious laugh Cordelia kept hearing and how every time she did, she started to imagine demons coming out of the woodwork. 'It wasn't too bad at first,' he told them. 'She'd hear the laugh, see a demon, but I'd be able to calm her down. Only now … every time, she sees hundreds o' the things - and the laugh won't leave her alone, it followed her all through her dreams. She's exhausted and terrified and gettin' pretty dangerous…' He led them through to the bedroom.

Cordelia was still unconscious, though she wasn't still - she tossed fitfully and cried out in her sleep. 'Why did you tie her to the bed?' Fred asked, sounding shocked.

Doyle hung his head. 'She nearly killed a UPS delivery guy - you've seen what she's done to our place. I can't risk her gettin' free and hurtin' anyone. Or hurtin' herself.' Cordy cried out - a wild shriek of pain, and he immediately crossed to her side and stroked her hair, murmuring soothing noises to try and quieten her … but he also checked the knots binding her down, making doubly sure that she couldn't pull herself free.

'And - uh - maybe this is the question I don't wanna ask,' Lorne said, 'but how did she come to be unconscious?'

'I hit her,' Doyle admitted, biting his lip and keeping his eyes on Cordy so he didn't have to see his friends' faces. 'I didn't know what else to do - how to stop her.'

'What do you need us to do?' Wesley asked him - he alone didn't sound shocked or horrified, his voice was calm and clear - and sounded as if he were ready to work the problem, same as any other case. That was his watcher's training - it always allowed him to face anything the universe threw at him without flinching. Doyle shot him a grateful look. 'I've researched as far as I can on the net,' he told them, 'I've not found anythin' - and I'm startin' to wonder if maybe this isn't a demon, exactly, maybe it's some kind of - I dunno - spirit or Djinn or … just somethin' else - but I don't know where to start lookin'.'

'My books are upstairs?' Wesley asked. Doyle nodded. 'Very well, I'll go up and start researching at once, Fred…' he turned to go and the woman, with a last sad look at Cordy, followed on behind him.

Doyle looked at the two men left behind. 'Where's Angel?' he asked - as if only now just realising who wasn't there. Gunn shrugged. 'He's been feelin' under the weather - no one's heard from him all day.'

'Right,' the Irishman shook his head, as if not believing that it was today of all days that Angel would find himself indisposed. 'Well then, I'll need you ready to go when Wes identifies whatever this is. If Angel isn't in the mix then you'll have to be the muscle - I want this thing dead. Very dead.'

'No problem.'

'Stay with her?' Doyle asked, 'make sure she doesn't get free and if she does - uh - knock her out again.' He looked over at Lorne, 'and will you do whatever you can to keep her calm?'

'Sure thing, sweetcakes.' Lorne pulled a chair up next to the bed, took hold of Cordelia's hand and began to sing; '_when you're down and you're troubled … and you need some loving care…' _

'What are you gonna do?' Gunn asked the half demon. Doyle rubbed his face and pushed his hands through his hair - leaving it sticking up on end. 'I'm goin' crazy with worry down here, I need to do somethin' - I guess I'll go help Wes.'

He stroked Cordy's hair, and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. 'I'll just be upstairs,' he said to her - though he didn't really believe she could hear him. He glanced at the others. 'Call me if there's any change.' They nodded and, with many a regretful backwards glance, he left the apartment and went back up to the office.

Gunn pulled up another chair and sat beside Lorne, listening to him sing. '_...and that old north wind begins to blow … keep your head together…' _

'She's not peaceful,' Gunn said - looking down at her face, which was crumpled and worn with suffering. 'You think she's dreaming?'

* * *

_Cordelia stood in the middle of what looked like a barren wasteland - or a desert - and the wind was blowing around her, whipping her hair round her face and whistling in her ears. She was alone - and she didn't know where Doyle was, or how to get back to him. _

_She put her hands to her head, trying to block out the sound of the storm and then she heard a voice - a soothing voice - barely audible in the distance; singing. She listened harder. _'You just call out my name - and you know wherever I am - I'll come running …' _and she knew if she could just get to the voice that everything would be OK. she'd be safe - and Doyle would be there._

_She listened harder. _'Winter, spring summer or fall - all you have to do is call...' _She forced herself to start moving, lifting one foot - though it seemed so heavy - and putting it down, before lifting the next one; willing herself to move forward; one weary step at a time. To get to safety. She stumbled onward - the voice was getting louder - _'They'll hurt you - and desert you - and take your soul if you let them…' _She reached the edge of the barren wasteland and stepped out onto the streets of L.A - she knew this place, she was right by her building - and the voice was coming from inside. She forced her leaden weight legs to run … but that was when she heard it. The laugh. Snickering and cruel … and she remembered that she had gone to the desert to hide. She had been safe there, even if she had been lonely and lost. _

_The laugh sounded again - and she backed away from the building and began to run in the opposite direction, hoping to get away. But it followed her down an alleyway - and then a demon jumped out at her and she screamed and lashed out, pushing it away from herself and running on. But she was so tired. She couldn't keep running. And she couldn't fight all the demons - and she knew that laugh was going to get her in the end._

* * *

Harmony sat at the front desk and flipped her way through a copy of vogue. Beside her, the phone began to ring and she reached out and answered it without even taking her eyes off her magazine. 'Hello, Wolfram and Hart,' she said, sounding bored.

'Hi Harmony, it's Fred.'

'Hey Fred.'

'Hey … have you heard from Angel today? Have you seen him yet?'

Harmony shook her head. 'Haven't heard a peep.'

'OK,' Fred's voice sounded troubled. 'Well - we're all gonna be out of the office for a while, I think - could you maybe call him, check he's OK?'

'Act like I care? Good thinking!' Harmony said brightly. She put Fred on hold and dialled for the inside line to Angel's penthouse.

...

Up in Angel's apartment, the phone began to ring - but Angel didn't hear it. _He sat up with a start and looked around. He could hear a piano playing … and sure enough, just to his left, he saw Lorne - dressed up like it was the Old West, complete with suspenders and a little moustache, tinkling the ivories. 'Lorne?'_

'_Around these parts folks call me Honky Tonk,' he gobbed a wad of Tobacco into the spittoon. Angel glanced down in disgust - and then looked back at his friend, confused._

...

Harmony rapped her nails on the desk, as she waited for Angel to pick up. He never did and instead she got his answering machine. She pressed the button to kill the call and then took Fred off hold. 'Zippo luck,' she said. 'Just got his machine - I can leave a message if you like.'

All the way down in Doyle and Cordy's office, Fred frowned. 'No,' she said, 'I guess we should just let him rest. But if you do hear from him let me know at once, OK?'

'Sure thing.' And she hung up her phone and went back to her magazine.

* * *

_Lorne was now playing 'My Darling Clementine'. He looked across at Angel, sat on his bed and looking lost. 'Why so down in the dumpster, partner?' he asked. 'You look like you had to put down your last puppy.' _

_Harmony appeared - dressed like a waitress at the Copacabana. She put a whisky on top of the piano for Lorne and then stared expectantly at Angel. 'I think I'm lost,' Angel told them both. _

'_Order a drink!' Lorne told him._

'_Everything hurts.' _

'_Now you're gettin' it. Everything hurts - and then we die. Or in your case then you go on…' he played a low note on the piano, 'and on…' he played a lower note, 'and on..' he played the lowest note, the first key - the A - and held it down for just a shade too long, so it jarred uncomfortably in Angel's ears. 'I don't know what to do,' he admitted._

'_Why don't you give me an earful of them pretty pipes of yours. Let me suss it out.' He began to play 'My Darling Clementine' again and a spotlight shone down on Angel. The vampire blinked in the sudden brightness. 'Well, sing out, Louise,' Lorne said to him. _

_Angel opened his mouth to try and sing - but no sound came out. He gasped and squeaked - but wasn't able to form a single note. _

'_I told you he was empty.' Fred was sitting at a table in the corner, with a drink in front of her. She sounded bored. Wes and Gunn and Doyle were with her as well - and they were all watching Angel - and none of them looked too happy. Doyle threw__ a handful of peanuts at Angel, 'come on!' he called._

'_Yes, this is ridiculous,' Wesley said he sounded annoyed. He leaned towards Angel, who stared back at him, blinking. 'We paid good money for this. We paid blood for this.' Doyle threw another handful of peanuts. _

_Lorne leaned across to Angel, still playing the piano. 'Crowd's turning on ya sport,' he said. Angel looked helplessly between Lorne and the rest of his friends, but he still couldn't manage to sing a note._

_Gunn's eyes suddenly flashed silver, and he growled - like the big cat in the whiteroom. _

_Angel flinched. Lorne stared at him. 'You still got that thing on your shirt?' he asked. The vampire looked down - and this time he saw what was really there - the small, blue, slimy creature munching away on him - sapping his energy and sucking his life force. He reached down …_ and with his eyes scrunched up and a grunt of pain, he ripped the creature from his chest and crushed it in his hands.

...

'Wow, you killed Junior,' Lilah was standing in front of him. She had on a pair of pajamas and her hair was wrapped up, turban like, in a silk scarf. She was carrying a large wooden box. 'No wonder you were the hero,' she said, walking towards him, 'Angel - the dark avenger - he always finds a way.' She sat down on the bed and carefully unwrapped her turban, shaking her hair loose. Angel watched her, mesmerised as her hair cascaded down her shoulders and then she flipped it - like Rita Hayworth in Gilda. 'But that just isn't you anymore.' she said, 'Look at you.' Angel glanced down at himself - and when he looked back up, Lilah was wearing a pair of sunglasses. 'You can't even save yourself,' she said from behind the shades, 'no wonder the PTB have found a bigger fish to fry. Speaking of bigger fish … wanna see what's in the box?'

* * *

'Ah - yes - here we go…' After what had seemed like far too long, Wesley had managed to find something in one of his big, heavy books. He slammed it down on the desk and tapped the illustration he had found within. 'You were on the right track, Doyle,' he said, 'I've been focusing on sprites, imps and those creatures of a more fey or puckish nature - rather than demons - and this seems to fit the spec quite well.'

'Akashelshi,' Fred read over his shoulder.

'A primitive, trickster spirit,' Wesley informed her, 'gets inside a victim's head - makes them see all manner of things. They become a danger to themselves and others, often they kill innocents - sometimes they kill themselves. You've done a good job protecting Cordy, Doyle,' he assured the worried half demon, 'this little bugger can cause an awful lot of damage.'

'So do you know how we can stop it?' Fred asked.

'Stopping it is the easy part,' Wesley replied. 'To force out the possession of a sprite one must simply smash the effigy - in this case the effigy of Akashelshi. And Cordelia will be fixed. Unfortunately there's a catch.'

'There always is,' Fred said glumly.

'Quite. A trickster spirit must be summoned. They are controlled by the one who summons them. Akashelshi is the one causing this, but I have no idea who might be controlling him.'

Doyle had not said anything yet, not even when he had been commended on his care of Cordelia - of having kept her safe from harming herself or others. He was staring down at the picture of the trickster spirit. His breath was catching in his throat, and the blood was pounding in his ears as he felt himself gripped with a rage that was more intense than anything he had ever felt before; even worse than the darkest of his early demon days. This was a rage born from betrayal - and a betrayal that had led to the person he loved more than anything in the world being hurt, at that. It was a rage that must have almost equalled Angel's own when Connor was taken.

The picture showed a rough hewn statuette carved out of driftwood. It was ugly and squat … and he recognised it. _He recognised it._ He recognised the picture and he recognised the name. He balled his fist and forced down his anger. That would have to come later. For now, he needed to save Cordy. 'I know who's controllin' it,' he said, though there was a catch in his voice. He went over to the computer and started to search the database, nodding when he found what he was looking for. 'Fred,' he said - and his voice still trembled with suppressed anger, 'I need you to go and get Gunn.'

* * *

Angel stared at Lilah. Her eyes were still hidden behind the shades - but her smile was cruel and wolfish. He looked down at the box. 'That's right,' she said, her voice - unlike her smile - was silky smooth and soft. 'It'll all be over soon.' She lifted the lid - and a far, far larger blue creature jumped out.


	41. Soul Purpose: Part Four

_Part Four_

Lilah raised her shades, so they were resting on her brow, and watched the slimy, blue creature start to crawl up Angel's abdomen. She waited until it latched on - Angel moaned and groaned but was helpless to stop it - and then she smirked, got up off the bed and hopped out of the apartment, taking the box with her.

'No!' Angel stared down in dazed and sweaty horror at the much bigger parasite that was now suckered onto him. He closed his eyes and grit his teeth and - with the last of his strength - swung his arm out at the creature and knocked it from the bed. Then he tumbled out of the other side and began to slowly and painfully drag himself across the floor.

He reached out for the phone, but - clumsy and weak with exhaustion - he only managed in knocking it off the side. He rolled over and collapsed - too tired to move, and the creature crawled back up onto his chest.

* * *

_Cordelia heard the sound of the laughter behind her - and put on another spurt of speed, though every step was painful now - she'd been running for so long. She ran down the covered Spanish style walkway towards her apartment and pushed her way through the door. 'Doyle?' she called out, stumbling into her living room, 'Dennis?' But there was no reply. She stared round - and then she heard it again, snickering and chuckling - and then the glass from the large crescent window smashed in and a vicious looking, red skinned demon came tumbling through. _

_She screamed and kicked it in the head, it fell backwards and - before it had time to regain its footing - she fled towards her bedroom. She ran through her room and into the bathroom, where she slammed the door behind her and locked it. _

_When she turned round, she found herself standing out on the landing of the Hyperion. She could see the lobby beneath her, and the grand sweep of the stairs. She took a few deep breaths. 'Hello?' she called out. 'Doyle?... Where is everyone?... Please! I can't find you...' _

_From downstairs she heard that soft voice again - singing to her. '_When the night has come, and the way is dark - and the moon is the only light you'll see…' _She knew that voice. It meant safety and comfort, if she could only get to it. But behind her, the laughter sounded again - and the door she had just closed suddenly shook and vibrated, as something the other side of it slammed against it - trying to get through. She jumped - and then ran, heading for the stairs - and for the singing voice. 'Who's there?' she called out, 'I can't find you.' _

'So darlin' darlin' stand by me - oh stand by me oh stand now, won't you stand, stand by me…' _The voice sounded louder down in the lobby, and she looked around for it - it seemed right, here, in the Hyperion - like it belonged there, and she was sure if she could just find the singer then everything would be OK. She peered behind the front desk, hoping to see her friends, hoping Doyle would be there working at his computer, or Wes would be there reading his books - but it was deserted. _

_And then the laughter came again - and once more the windows shattered as demons, three of them this time, massive and snarling, came smashing through. She didn't even try to fight them. They were too many and she was too tired. Instead she just turned heel and fled, leaving the voice behind - as well as the demons - and running for the glass doors that led out into the courtyard. _

_But when she pushed her way through and stumbled outside, she found herself not out in the courtyard, as she had expected, but in the the quad at Sunnydale High. This wasn't right. She would never find Doyle here - he didn't belong here, and neither did she anymore. The place was still set up for graduation - though the chairs had been knocked over in the battle and the banner celebrating her graduating class had fallen down - but the place was deserted. _

_Almost deserted. She could hear the voice again. '_If the sky we look upon should tumble and fall and the mountains should crumble into the sea…' _She raised her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun and gazed around. It was coming from inside the school, from upstairs. She crossed the quad and ran up the stairway, the one Marcie Ross had knocked Harmony down all those years before. _

_There was no sign of the laughter yet and she thought, if she kept on moving, then maybe she could outrun it. The door to the music room was hanging ajar and that seemed as good a place as any to look for the singing voice. But once inside, she found herself somewhere else again - not in Sunnydale anymore, and not in Kansas either - not by the look of the place. _

_She was in a corridor - the floor was stone flagged and the walls had tapestries hanging on them. The whole place was lit by braziers, which cast long, flickering shadows on the floor. She ran the length of the hallway and pushed open the grand double doors at the end and, stumbling through, found herself in Doyle's throne room. It looked just as she remembered it: the golden throne up on the dais; the high ceilings; the light flooding in the windows and the suits of armour and the trestle table of delicacies … but Doyle wasn't here. _

_The laughter came again - and she turned to look, wondering where she could run to next. And then she saw all the demons suddenly seem to melt out of the walls - the priests in their red robes, the Deathwok demons, and the purple, stringy ones whose name she couldn't remember. They were all closing in on her - none of them looking too pleased to see the King's cow consort back in the throne room._

_But then the singing came again, a new song now - '_when you're weary feeling small, when tears are in your eyes I'll dry them all…' _and suddenly the Pylean demons fell to the floor, clutching their ears and screaming as if in pain. Cordelia seized her opportunity and ran on again - not knowing where she was heading, or where she would end up next. Nothing seemed to make any sense. Not here. Though she didn't really know where 'here' was - she had been so many places, this couldn't be the real world. And Doyle wasn't anywhere - and she didn't understand that, because she couldn't believe he would leave her here - alone. The only comfort she had was that singing voice, but she knew that wasn't him. _

_She jumped up onto the dais, ran behind the throne and pulled the curtain back, hoping to find a means of escape, whilst the demons were still writhing in agony from the music. She fell through the curtain and came to a stop - wherever she was she had never been here before. But she was high up, and she must be back in L.A because whatever this place was it had spectacular views of the city … really spectacular views. It was night time, and the lights of Downtown were twinkling beneath her, taking the place of the stars that could never be seen in Los Angeles. But now was not the time to admire the beauty of the city at night, and regretfully she turned away. _

_The place was an apartment - a penthouse - beautifully furnished … so beautifully furnished … and it was large and luxurious. She could hear the singing coming from one of the rooms. '_Like a bridge over troubled waters, I will lay me down, Like a bridge over troubled waters..' _She took a step towards it. _

_But then, from a different room, she heard a groaning sound. It sounded like someone in trouble - not the laughter that was haunting her, and not the demons that kept attacking her - but the sound of a soul in torment. She hesitated - and then turned away from the singing, and from safety, and went to investigate. After all - if someone was in trouble - even tired and frightened and alone as she was - she was the slayer, she helped the hopeless, it was her job to help this person. _

_The moaning was coming from what turned out to be a bedroom - there was a giant, king sized bed with Egyptian cotton sheets and a thread count to die for. And then she saw him. Angel was lying on the floor - almost paralysed. And there was a creature on top of him, large and blue and slimy - like a parasite - and it was sucking his strength, killing him. He couldn't get free. 'Angel!' she ran over to him - and tried to pull the creature off - but her hand went right through him, as if he weren't really there, or as if she were a ghost. 'Angel I can't…' she tried again._

_Their eyes met for a moment - and she knew he could see her too. He reached out for her, but just as had happened when she tried to touch him, his hand passed through her. One of them was not really there. 'Angel,' her eyes filled with tears as she saw how much he was suffering and felt how hopeless she was to try and help. _

_And then the laughter came again, that sinister, creepy little chuckle that always preceded a demon attack. She got back to her feet and looked around - but she stood her ground. She wasn't going to run on, run away - not when Angel was here, suffering. She couldn't just leave him behind. She was going to stay with him - until they were saved or until they were dead. She planted her feet and raised her fists and waited for the first of the demons to melt out of the woodwork and come at her._

* * *

Doyle, Wes and Gunn had left the office - leaving Fred and Lorne watching over Cordelia, as she dreamt - and were headed to the address Doyle had been able to pull from the demons demons demons database. They pulled up outside the Old Los Angeles Subway Terminal Building and got out of the car. It was a long time since this building had acted as a railway station - it was now a block of very high end apartments - but it still had access to the tunnels, inside.

The block of apartments had a doorman - who opened his mouth as if to say something when he saw Doyle headed for the building, in his cheap shirt and battered leather jacket, but then closed it again and nodded respectfully when he saw Gunn with him - and took in the cut of his designer suit. He opened the door for the three men and they marched inside, and then headed for the boiler room in the basement.

Down there was a grate, like the sewer access opening in the Hyperion, but here it led down to the old underground rail lines instead. They prised open the grate and dropped down into the hole. The air down there was humid and stagnant and hard to breathe. It was dark and oppressive, with the sound of water dripping in from the streets above and the sound of a suction pump faltering and spluttering in the distance. It was muddy under foot, with decades of mulch and ground water and debris coming up to almost ankle depth.

'Man, what is this place?' Gunn asked.

'The Pacific Electric Railway,' Doyle told him, his voice was grim. 'Red car line - or what's left of it anyway. Been closed since the 50s.'

'Yes, I've heard about this,' Wesley raised his flashlight and shone it around - the beam landing on the old platform sign that still stood there - a painting of two disembodied, little hands indicating which platform to use depending on the direction of travel. 'The official story was that it simply wasn't needed any more - not cost efficient. Buses and, of course, cars meant that less and less people used the old subway. But rumour has it that the real reason was more eldritch in nature.'

'A demon moved in,' Doyle shrugged, he jumped down from the old platform and started walking down the abandoned railway line, headed for the tunnels, 'and that's when people move out.'

'And the demon's still here?' Gunn asked, following behind him, 'it's the demon that's messing with Cordy?'

'I reckon so.' Gripping their flashlights tightly, and shining their beams ahead of them, they squelched through the mud and down the dark tunnel. 'We need to keep an eye out for the entrance way,' Doyle said, shining his own flashlight along the brick walls of the tunnel itself.

'Entrance way to what?' Wesley asked him.

'To the demon's lair.'

'You mean this aint the demon's lair?' Gunn sounded surprised. But Doyle only shrugged. 'Would you wanna live in a dark, dank, skank hole like this?' he asked. 'Nah - the demon comes from the underworld. It was only in the 19th century - or in this case the 1920s - when humans started digging deep enough to excavate underground railway systems, that some demons found a way up into our world. This is just the gateway…' his flashlight hit on a wide crack in the wall, large enough for a man to fit through if he slipped in sideways. He came to a stop. 'And I reckon this is the gate.'

They came to a stop. 'I think perhaps we should exercise due caution before we just disappear down a crevice in the wall of an abandoned, underground tunnel - into a place that is quite possibly packed with demons,' Wesley suggested.

'And I think that whatever's down there is hurtin' Cordy,' Doyle told him. 'We left caution behind several stops back. Now it's them that need to look out.'

'I'm down with that,' Gunn agreed.

Hidden in the darkness of the subterranean passageway, a strange tremor passed over Doyle's face, at Gunn's words. His eyes glinted, hard and angry - but no one saw, in the gloom, and he didn't say anything. Instead, he just glanced between his two friends, and then led the way through the crack in the wall.

...

He found himself in a narrow, downward sloping passage - the floor was uneven beneath his feet and he put out his free hand to brace himself against the wall, and shone the flashlight on the ground to light up any hidden bumps or pitfalls. Slowly, he shuffled his way down, hearing Wes and Gunn following on behind him. The narrow path twisted and turned, as he headed even further beneath the ground, and the lower they went the even hotter and staler the air became. It was getting difficult to breathe, and the darkness and the walls on either side were claustrophobic and suffocating. But this was for Cordy, and so it never even occurred to Doyle to give up and go back to safety, never even occurred to him to be bothered by the heat and the dark and the narrowness, never even occurred to him to be frightened - of where he was now or what was to come at the end of it. Nothing mattered, except saving Cordelia.

After about ten minutes of stumbling through the dark, following the twists of the pathways ever further downward, they eventually saw a glimmer of distant light. It grew brighter and rosier the closer they got until, finally, the pathway opened up into a large chamber, lit by torches - their flames casting flickering shadows across the rough hewn walls.

The chamber was empty - but across from them were two large, grand looking double doors. 'So I'm guessing we take whatever's behind door number one,' Gunn said.

'Remember,' Wesley told them both, 'whatever demons are behind there - killing them is just a bonus. If we're to save Cordelia we need to smash the statue of Akashelshi - that's the only way to rid her mind of his possession.'

They switched off their flashlights, now they were no longer needed - and left them behind in the antechamber, taking their weapons out instead. And then, 'count o' three,' Doyle said, they stood in front of the door. 'One,' he morphed into his spikes, 'two,' they raised their weapons, 'three…' he kicked the door down and they rushed inside the next chamber.

* * *

Cordelia cried out, and twisted in her sleep. She strained against the bonds that tied her down, thrashing around, but couldn't get free. Her face was pained - and even though she slept, she still looked exhausted. Lorne sat beside her, holding her hand and still singing softly. '_When your day is long, and the night, the night is yours alone…'_

'I just hate seeing her like this,' Fred said quietly, sitting beside him - and watching Cordelia's distressed face, sadly. 'She's in so much pain. Do you think the guys will find who's doing this? Do you think they'll stop it?'

Cordelia cried out again. Lorne squeezed her hand, tighter. 'I'm sure of it, sugar … _cause everybody cries. And everybody hurts … sometimes.'_

* * *

They burst into the larger underground room. Like the antechamber, the walls were rough stone, though they were draped in tapestries and the light from the torches caught the gold of their threads and made them gleam. There was a throne, made out of what looked like the twisted and bleached bones of humans, standing empty on a dais. Whoever's throne room this was - they were not in to visitors today. And in the middle of the room, there was a pentagram daubed on the floor, surrounded by a hundred candles - and in the centre of the star was the small, squat effigy of the trickster spirit, Akashelshi.

A group of robed demons - acolytes of the one whose domain this was - were kneeling around the pentagram, chanting. They had red skin and green eyes and long, curved, rams horns - they stumbled to their feet in alarm when the door came flying in and the three men rushed them, weapons raised.

Although there were far more demons, Doyle and his friends held the advantage as they had got the jump on them and, unlike the acolytes, they were armed. They moved through the chamber, swift and sure, hacking down any demon that got in their path. Wesley skewered one with his sword, before pulling it free and then turning, swinging the blade to behead another one creeping up behind him.

Gunn and Doyle were both using axes, smashing them into the bodies of their opponents and then kicking them away from themselves. Doyle grabbed one by the collar and rammed his face full of spikes into the demon's own face in a vicious headbutt. The demon screamed out and raised its hands to its eyes - and that's when Doyle stuck his axe right in its chest. It fell to the ground with a thud.

Some of the acolytes were realising they were beaten and starting to flee. Gunn rugby tackled one to the ground and brought his own axe smashing down into its face. There was a fountain of blood and gore which sprayed up three feet in the air - and Gunn had to roll away to stop himself getting covered. Another demon came charging at him, screaming and - prone on the ground - he grabbed one of the candles which surrounded the pentagram, and used it to set the demon's robes alight.

And then Doyle saw the path clear to the small statue - such an innocuous looking thing, made from driftwood, all bumpy and gnarly, the sort of thing you would pass by in a thrift store and not look at twice except to comment how ugly it was - but it had caused so much trouble. He ran towards it, knocking candles over as he did, raised his axe high and then smashed it down onto the effigy. The wood splintered and shot out in all directions, and there was a sudden unearthly screaming noise, like the wail of a banshee, as the spirit of Akashelshi was ripped from the statue and cast out into the ether…

* * *

_Cordelia threw a punch at one demon, and then kicked another, before throwing a third across the room. She glanced back at where Angel was still lying on the floor, groaning, trapped beneath the parasite that was killing him. But there was nothing she could do for him - she couldn't touch him, couldn't help him in this dream state. All she knew was that one - possibly both of them - were likely to die, but as long as she stayed here - they wouldn't have to die alone. _

_But then her head was filled with the most awful screeching sound, it reverberated in her eardrums and vibrated behind her eyes. She brought her hands up to cover her ears hoping to block it out, but the unearthly wail would not stop sounding. But then, the demons which circled around her suddenly started screaming out too - and they vanished into thin air, as if they had never been there. _

_With the screaming still ringing in her ears, she struggled her way back across to Angel. She knelt beside him and reached out to grab his hand and - just for a moment - she was able to hold onto him, but then the screeching reached a crescendo, she screwed up her eyes against the pain _and woke up, screaming herself, tied to the bed.

* * *

The demons were all either dead now or gone. The statue of the trickster spirit was no more than firewood, spilled in jagged splinters across the floor. Doyle morphed back into his human face, all three men were breathing heavily after their exertion.

'So did we win?' Gunn asked looking around at the bodies of the acolytes and the remains of the effigy, ''cause it looks to me like we won,' he grinned.

But Wesley was frowning, staring down at one of the dead demons. He nudged it with his toe. 'I'm not sure,' he said, 'these demons … I've seen them before.' He crouched down to examine the body, scrutinising its face and the shape of the horns. 'Hmmm.'

'What hmmm?' Gunn asked him.

'I saw demons like these at the Halloween Party,' Wesley told his friends. 'Whoever they serve - I think it may be one of our clients.'

Doyle just nodded grimly - as if this news came as no surprise to him - and stalked out of the throne room, leaving the other two men behind.

* * *

Spike arrived back at his apartment, his six pack of beer tucked under his arm. But when he tried the door, he found it already unlocked - with a deep sigh he pushed it open and went inside. Sure enough, _Doyle _was sat on the couch, waiting for him. 'See you found the market,' he said, nodding to the beer.

Spike put the beer down on the table, 'thought this was supposed to be a single - didn't know I was gonna have a bloody roommate.'

'Just checking in,' he got to his feet, 'keeping tabs.' He crossed to the table and picked up one of Spike's beers. 'It's sort of what I do.'

Spike snatched the beer from his hand. 'Yeah - well I don't need a babysitter. Anyway shouldn't you be babysitting Cordy right now? Isn't she supposed to be in some kind of peril?'

'Cordy?' _Doyle _looked blank.

'Yeah…' Spike furrowed his brow suspiciously. 'You rang up Wes and Gunn panicking about her not two hours ago - what happened with all that?'

'Oh - right - yeah - Cordy … it's fine. Resolved. So now I'm back to being on your case … were Wes and Gunn _here_?'

'Uhuh,' Spike cracked open the beer and took a swig. 'Turns out you're not the only friend of Angel's hedging their bets on who's the real vampire champion in town.'

'Well isn't that interesting?'

Spike took another drink and shook his head. 'Not really, no - now piss off.'

_Doyle _laughed. 'You this prickly with all your friends?'

'I'm soft on the inside.'

'Spike … things would be…' he suddenly gulped and staggered a step backward. 'Things would go a lot smoother if you…' he brought his hand up to his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he had a sudden migraine.

'Oh bloody hell, what was that about?' Spike asked him.

'I just had another vision,' he panted, his face still looking pained.

'Oh great. Look - don't expect me to jump every time you get one of these vision thingies.'

_Doyle_ shook his head, 'oh no - you're gonna wanna jump on this one.'

* * *

Gunn walked into the antechamber, dusting his hands off and laughing to himself. 'Man - I've missed getting my violence on,' he said to Doyle, who was just standing in the middle of the room, like he was frozen. 'Wes is goin' over those guys with a fine tooth comb trying to work out who they were - but me - I'm just happy I got to axe something. Don't care what their game was - don't know why they went after _Cordy_ of all people th…'

He was suddenly cut off. Doyle had gone demon face again and had sprung across the room and now had the other man pinned up against the wall by his throat. He got right up in his face, so that the spikes were dangerously close to Gunn's eyes. Doyle's own red eyes were furious - there was a murderous light in them that Gunn had never seen there before.

'Those demons are the acolytes of lord D'hakmarth,' Doyle snarled. 'You remember him? The client you were so worried about impressin'? That statue I just smashed - me and Cordy found that statue. Took it off some vamps that were stealin' it. _You_ took it off us. _You_ gave it to this demon overlord - you threatened us with escalating the situation if we didn't hand it over.' He slammed him against the rough wall again, 'and now, your important demon client has used that statue to hurt _my_ Cordelia.' He slammed Gunn again - the rage that he held back until the job was done was coursing through him now, electric and intense. 'If she'd got hurt - if she'd hurt someone else …'

Gunn pushed the angry half demon away from himself, Doyle stumbled back a few steps. Now Gunn was looking angry too. 'Man - I had no idea that would happen. I had no reason to think some demon overlord would go after _Cordy._'

'_But you knew he'd go after someone!' _Doyle yelled at him. 'You knew he was a bad guy, you knew that was a dangerous artefact - and y' gave it to him anyway - 'cause you cared more about business than y' did about the people he might hurt. Thought you wouldn't have to see the consequences.'

'It wasn't like that…'

'_She could have been killed,'_ Doyle's voice was trembling with rage. 'She very nearly killed someone else - a normal guy. I couldn't protect her from the consequences of that. And it would all be on you! If you _ever_ put the needs of your evil law firm over the lives of innocent people again - ever do anything so stupid and selfish again - I _will_ kill you. You have to believe me. I'll do it.'

'Like you could, Irish.'

'Just try me, Charles. Just bloody well try me.' Both men glared at each other, breathing heavily.

The moment was interrupted by Wesley walking into the chamber. He looked between them both, taking in their furious expressions. 'What's going on?' he asked. There was a moment of silence - as the two men continued to stare - daring the other to tell the whole truth, and then Doyle shook off his spikes. 'Nothin',' he muttered. 'It's between us.'

'Right - well,' he was still shooting suspicious glances between his two friends, 'Fred just called, Cordelia is awake - and her mind seems clear.'

Doyle took a few more deep breaths, and then turned and stormed away up the narrow passage, headed back for the underground tunnels and then the outside world.

* * *

Angel lay on the floor, gasping in pain. Cordelia had been here - just a second ago, she had held his hand - but then she had just vanished. And now he was alone again. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again _he was sat out in the sunshine in a grassy meadow, on a comfy reclining, leather chair. The whole gang walked towards him - Cordy and Fred were wearing lightweight summer dresses and the gentle breeze was playing with their hair. 'This is really nice,' Fred said to him. _

'_You can stay as long as you want,' Wesley told him. 'Stay forever.' _

'_In the peace - in the sunshine,' Doyle agreed. Fred sat on the arm of the chair and smiled down at him. He looked at all his friends, smiling softly at him. 'No … there's so much work to do.' _

'_We've got it covered,' Gunn assured him. _

'_We can keep the city safe,' Cordy promised, 'you can rest.' _

'_But I'm not supposed to be here.' _

'_No fighting, Angel heart,' Lorne said. 'Time to let freedom reign. Let yourself go.'_

'_But I'm not finished.'_

'_You are if you want to be,' Wesley said, gently. _

_Fred reached out and stroked his hair. 'It'll be fine. Great, actually. All you have to do is stop caring. Just …' she suddenly stopped talking and threw her head back emitting a deafening and unearthly screech. And then Wesley did the same, followed by Gunn and Lorne and Doyle and Cordy. All of them - screaming out in animal agony, jolting Angel _out of his dream state, just as Spike reached down and grabbed the blue creature off his chest. Then he threw it across the room, where it smashed against the wall and exploded in a burst of inky blood and gore, before falling to the floor - twitching for a moment and then going still.

'That'll be a bugger to clean up,' Spike said.

Angel peered up at him in pained confusion, 'Spike?'

'No need to thank me - I'm just helping the hopeless.'

* * *

'I'm telling you I'm fine,' Cordelia protested to Fred and Lorne for what seemed like the thousandth time. 'But if you don't untie me then I can guarantee that you two won't be.'

'We will, Cordy,' Fred said awkwardly, 'just - once Doyle's here and he's seen you're OK. If we let you go and something happens …'

'_Nothing _is going to happen. I'm completely OK again - one hundred percent creepy laughter free inside my noggin. So you need to untie me - and then you need to get back to the evil empire because there's something wrong with Angel and he needs your help.'

Fred and Lorne glanced at each other. 'Angel cakes is just feeling a little under the weather,' Lorne tried to assure her, 'we left him to rest.'

'And whilst he's resting this big, blue, slimy slug thing is munching on him and killing him. I saw him whilst I was sleeping. You need to go and save him. He's in danger.'

'Cordelia,' Fred frowned, 'if you saw him when you were sleeping, don't you think maybe it was just part of your dream?'

'And don't you think it hurts no one for you to get right over there and check it out?' Cordy snapped back. Fred and Lorne exchanged another dubious glance.

But then came the sound of footsteps on the stairs - and Doyle appeared in the apartment. 'Cordelia?' he called out.

'I'm in here! They won't untie me!'

He hurried into the bedroom - nodded a quick thanks to his friends who had watched over Cordy and then crossed the room to her. He sat on the bed beside her and ran his fingers through her hair, gazing into her eyes to check she was herself again. 'You OK?' he asked her, gently. She nodded, and he leaned in to kiss her - feeling almost weak with relief. He was trembling slightly as he pulled away and began to untie the knots that bound Cordy to the bed. 'Uhm - thanks for watchin' her guys,' he said to the others, though he kept his eyes firmly fixed on Cordelia, 'it means a lot that you came.'

'Yes - it's great - but now you need to go and save Angel,' Cordelia insisted, still sounding snappish and annoyed.

'Uh - well maybe we had better ... leave you to it.' Fred and Lorne got to their feet and backed out of the room. 'We'll get right on that checking on Angel thing,' Fred promised. And then Doyle and Cordy were alone and, once he'd undone the final knot, he wrapped his arms tightly around her and held her close - still shivering with the fear of how close he had come to losing her.

* * *

The gang were all gathered in the penthouse - along with Lilah. Angel sat on the sofa and held Connor in his arms, clinging onto this comforting solid lump of reality. He could still feel the poison sweeping through his system - though it was lessening now, and he was feeling stronger.

'I can't believe Cordy was right,' Fred was saying, sounding a little guilty. 'I guess whatever fever dream she was in and whatever fever dream you were in must have crossed over somehow…'

Wesley came out of the bedroom, wiping his hands on a towel. He had been examining the creature Spike had killed. 'It was a selminth parasite,' he told them all. 'Its teeth inject an anaesthetic, making the host oblivious to its presence. You'd never know you had it on you. Pumps neurotoxins into the body causing paralysis, hallucinations, fever dreams.'

Angel took a long sip of blood, hoping to fortify himself. 'It all seemed so real,' he said. 'All of it.' He looked at Fred, 'you were dissecting me, and there was this … bear.' He turned to Lorne, 'and you called yourself Honky Tonk, tried to get me to sing, but...' He looked over at Gunn, remembering what had come next. 'You were big with the heckling.'

Gunn had been looking preoccupied, but at Angel's words he glanced up and furrowed his brow. 'Uh … sorry?' He didn't know what else to say.

'So - if this parasite continued pumping its toxins into Angel…' Fred started to ask.

'He would have been stuck in a permanent vegetative state,' Wesley explained. There was a moment of silence whilst everyone contemplated that. 'Well, good thing Spike swooped in and saved the day,' Lorne said in the end. 'Whilst we were busy playing Doubting Thomas with Cordelia, no less. How did he even know you were in trouble?'

Angel shook his head, 'didn't say.'

'What I want to know is how that thing got here in the first place,' Gunn said. Fred told him that they were checking the firm's storage facilities. It was possible a specimen had escaped. But Angel shook his head. 'Lilah brought it in,' he said. Everyone turned to look at her. She raised a sceptical eyebrow, '_me?_'

'You were here,' he told her.

'You dreamed about me?' she didn't sound like she was very impressed with this news.

'No - you put the big one on me after I killed the other one.'

'Other one?' Wesley looked at him, concerned, 'Angel there was only one.'

'No.'

'Maybe you're confusing reality with your hallucinations?' the watcher suggested. 'Lilah would have no reason to …'

But Angel shook his head. 'No - I remember now. It was Lilah. She came into my room with the box. She was wearing her pajamas and this turban...'

'A turban?' Lilah asked, she stifled a giggle.

'And then you took it off. The turban. And put your shades on - and then you opened the box, let the bigger one crawl out onto me and … hopped out of the room.'

Lilah wasn't even bothering to hide her laughter anymore. 'Angel - wonder bread - does that sound like the kind of thing I do? Am I known for hopping around the office in my pjs?'

The rest of the team were looking awkward and a little embarrassed - for him. 'Angel, that does sound like another dream,' Wesley told him softly.

'No - I …' he looked around at them all - and could see that none of them believed him. 'That's what happened. It was real.'

'But you just said that it all felt real,' Gunn pointed out to him.

'But this was different I …' he didn't know what to say to convince them, and even though he was sure his memory was accurate - even he was starting to feel a little bit of doubt. It didn't sound plausible when he said it out loud.

'I think maybe you need to get some rest,' Lilah said, getting to her feet and heading to the elevator. 'I'm sure The Senior Partners will be very interested to hear all this - but I might wait a while until we're sure there's no permanent effect before I mention it. They won't be happy if their prize vampire has had his brain all scrambled. Nighty night.' The elevator door closed on her, and Angel was left with his team - feeling more unsettled than ever.

* * *

'So is everything still quiet in there?' Doyle asked, kissing Cordelia softly on her temple to indicate what he was talking about. They were cuddled up on the sofa with a glass of wine, their arms wrapped around one another. She nodded her head. 'Yep - no creepy laughter - and I'm glad to say inanimate objects are staying inanimate objects - and not turning into demons.' She kissed him softly on the lips. 'Thank you for keeping me safe,' she said, softly, 'thanks for not letting me hurt anyone.'

Doyle held her even tighter, 'any time,' he said.

'I'm so impressed with you figuring out what was wrong, as well,' she told him. 'You must have been under so much pressure - and freaking out.'

'I was,' he admitted, 'but it was Wes who found what we were looking for in the books.'

'And it was that creepy little statue we took off those vampires months ago?' She thought about it. 'What did Gunn say about that?'

'He swore he had no idea what would happen or that anyone would get hurt …' he laughed darkly. 'But I told him - he knew someone would get hurt, he just thought he wouldn't have to see it. And if he pulls a stunt like that again, I'll kill him. I mean it too. Anythin' couldda happened… I just don't get why Lord D'hakmarth decided to go after you and not me - or anyone else in the city.'

'I do,' Cordelia said quietly. Doyle looked down at her. 'At the Halloween party,' she said, 'when I was under Lorne's spell to let my guard down, I got talking to one of his acolytes … I told him I was a slayer.'

'So this was a targeted hit,' Doyle realised, and he did not look too happy about it. 'An attempt on the slayer's life… I guess maybe that's somethin' I'm gonna have to get used to, right? Big Bads comin' after y', tryin' to kill y' - just because of who you are.'

Cordelia chuckled, 'right - and maybe you'll gain just the tiniest insight into what it's like to be engaged to The freaking Promised One.'

He smiled. 'Right - I guess our lives aren't like other people's. I guess we're always in more danger.'

'But we always have each other,' she kissed him again. 'And just like you saved me today, I will always save you as well. We'll protect each other - from everything that's out there.'

'Right - we're a team.'

'Always.'

* * *

At the wine bar they had arranged to meet up in, Lilah and Lindsey clinked glasses. 'So today went pretty well,' Lilah said.

'Pretty damn smooth. Spike is buying every word of the lie and Angel…'

'Angel's slipping faster than even he realises.' She smiled her most dangerous smile, 'and his friend's are too oblivious to save him.'

* * *

**A/N Next episode is 'Damage'**


	42. Damage: Part One

**Damage**

_Part One_

Dr Rabinaw made his rounds, jangling his keys as he walked down the corridors. Night time on the psych ward - the chronic wing, it was always eerie; the halls were gloomy, the windows were barred and his footsteps echoed around him. But it was meds time - and at least the patients were quiet.

He unlocked one of the internal gates, stepped through to the other side and locked it securely again behind him. Walking through these halls was like running a submarine - only one door ever open at a time.

He arrived at the nurses station, where the sister was sat doing a crossword. 'We're running low on diazepam,' she told him, '...again.'

'Call Jacobsen over at County, see if they can spare any.' He pointed to her crossword. 'Give me one.'

'In a mellifluous manner - seven letters.'

He thought about it for a couple of seconds. 'Give me another one.'

'Dr Rabinaw!' Another nurse came running down one of the other hallways - sounding panicked. He hurried over to the internal gate she was behind and began to unlock it so he could get through to her. 'It's Philip,' she told him.

They hurried to Philip's room, where sure enough the young patient was lying collapsed on the floor, convulsing. Dr. Rabinaw crouched beside him and started to take his vitals. 'How much lithium did you give him?' he asked the nurse.

'Lith -' she looked confused and began to flick through the charts on her clipboard. 'No - no, he gets thorazine.'

'Thorazine? He's a manic depressive, he doesn't need a sedative.'

'I'm sorry - I must have got them mixed up.'

He got to his feet and grabbed her clipboard. 'Who didn't get their thorazine?' he demanded, hastily flipping through the charts. He felt his blood grow cold when he saw the answer. 'Oh god.'

And then - down another hallway - a mad banging started up; the violent, frenzied slamming of someone trying to beat down their reinforced door. He abandoned poor Philip and rushed back down the hall, past the nurses station and called out for an orderly as he went. 'Peterson!'

The banging continued, and he and Peterson approached the gate, unlocked it and then walked cautiously through into the hallway. They could see the door beginning to buckle under the onslaught of the banging. And then - all of a sudden - the banging stopped and a deathly silence reigned over the corridor. Dr. Rabinaw breathed a sigh of relief.

Too soon. A moment later there came a gigantic crash - and then the reinforced door was smashed right off its hinges. The room's inmate stood in the doorway - a young woman, far too slender to be capable of wreaking this kind of damage; her hospital gown and her hair were dishevelled and her expression was menacing and murderous. The patient began to walk down the hallway towards the doctor.

Dr. Rabinaw and the orderly began to back away slowly. 'It's alright, Dana,' the doctor said, keeping his voice soft. 'It's me, Dr. Rabinaw, remember? Just take it easy. I want you to listen to me, you're very sick…' he backed out of the gate and hastily shut it. 'And we just want to make you better, OK?'

Peterson locked the gate, trapping Dana on the other side. But she kept on coming - and the two men kept on backing up. Dana stopped at the gate and stared through at them, seeing the hypodermic needle in the doctor's hand - which he was readying to use ... on _her_. _Yellow one makes you weak. Brown one makes you sleepy. Not weak anymore. _ She grabbed hold of the gate and ripped it off its hinges, throwing it away down the hall - and then she advanced on the men.

She moved quickly. Too quickly. Peterson tried to hit her with a club but she ducked under his arm and kicked out at him, knocking him to the ground. Another orderly came at her, grabbing her from behind - but she kicked the wall and used the force of it to smash him into the opposite wall. He fell and she landed, without losing her footing. Then she grabbed another orderly and smashed his head through a window.

She had taken them all out in seconds. Her eyes fell on a box of surgical instruments - and she picked up a bone saw, examining her new found weapon - looking at the serrated edge of its teeth. _cut away - piece by piece - until there was nothing left._ One of the orderlies regained his feet and snuck up behind her, koshing her over the back of her head with his club. It had no effect, but she turned around, irritated, and slashed out with the saw, cutting him right across his jugular.

Dr. Rabinaw looked at what she had done - and ran away. The man on the ground was making groaning, gurgling sounds as he bled out, and Dana knelt down beside him and sawed away at his throat until the sounds subsided. When she got back up, her face was daubed with the blood of her victim - a line running vertically beneath each eye, and one running down her nose and chin - like some travesty of tribal markings.

* * *

Doyle lay on the green sofa, his feet resting on the far arm, and filled out the crossword. 'In a mellifluous manner, seven letters,' he read - and then began to write s.w.e.e.t.l.y into the boxes.

Cordelia was sat at the computer, going over their finances and sorting out their savings, putting money aside for the wedding. 'Things are gonna be tight,' she told her boyfriend, 'but if we can manage to keep our outgoings down then we should just be able to cover the costs of a cake and some flowers, hire a _smallish_ venue and a DJ and - most importantly - get me a dress.'

'Gotta get your priorities right,' Doyle agreed, absentmindedly, reading the next clue 'inclined to believe - eight letters.'

'You know, the whole thing is such a gyp!' Cordy told him, scanning her screen, looking at prices for the various things she had just listed. 'Flowers, dj hire - is all reasonably affordable - until you stick the word 'wedding' in the mix and then the whole price shoots up by a couple of zeros. The whole industry is one big scam,'

He leaned back, turning his head to look at her, 'well, you know we don't have to do things in line with the wedding industry, Princess. We can keep it all simple - I don't care if we get married in our jeans, in a justice of the peace's living room, with no one but his wife throwing rice at us, as long as we get married. The whole cake and dress and flowers stuff isn't necessary.' He moved onto his next clue, 'one attaching importance to social position, four letters.'

'I'm not getting married in my jeans in some guy's living room!' Cordelia protested. 'What would people say? We need to do this properly.'

'Snob,' Doyle muttered to himself.

'_What?'_

'Uh - no - it was the answer to my crossword clue. I didn't mean ... I'm listenin' - you want the big day. I get that. And if that's what y' want then that's what we'll have. Count on it.'

'It might mean we can't eat anything but ramen noodles until the big day,' she warned him. 'No more takeout for us. And we're gonna have to cut way back on how much wine and whisky we buy.'

'If that's what it takes,' he agreed, frowning down at his last clue.

'You sure?'

'I just want you to be happy. You're only gettin' this one wedding day - I hope.' They both laughed. 'It's gotta be what you want,' he finished up. 'Right - last clue: first, savage - 6 letters.' He stuck his tongue between his teeth as he wrote out the word 'primal' into the boxes. But just as he finished the L - he suddenly brought his hand up to his forehead and his head slammed back against the armrest.

Cordelia looked up in alarm, as she saw his entire body get taken over by the vision migraine. She sighed - so much for wedding planning their evening away - and went to get him water and aspirin. 'What did you see?' she asked, gently knocking his feet down from the sofa and sitting beside him, handing him over the water and painkillers. He took them gratefully. 'We got big trouble.'

* * *

Angel sat in his office, alone, in the dark - brooding. It had been a mistake, coming to Wolfram and Hart, he already knew that. But he had no choice in the matter - the mistake had been made back when he signed his life away to The Senior Partners, and though he was entirely at his own leisure to repent that decision, he still knew that - in the same circumstances - he would do the same thing again. Nothing mattered more than Connor. And that was why he stayed here - even though being here was a mistake.

But now, things had become even more complicated than they had been before - and with all the interminable shades of grey, balancing the scales that had gone on, they had been more than complicated enough. But now - now he believed that Lilah was playing her own game, separate from The Senior Partners - only nobody believed him.

Fair enough, Wesley not believing him. Wes had complicated feelings for Lilah - he didn't see straight where she was concerned, Angel understood that. He'd lost sight of the bigger picture, over women that were no good for him, enough times in his own life to not blame Wesley for having the wool pulled over his eyes. But the rest of them … he would have hoped they'd been with him long enough now to trust that he knew what he was talking about, when he said Lilah appearing in his dreams was different to the way the rest of them had appeared - had felt different. Had been real.

But then that's what it came down to - trust. A place like this, it turned your brain inside out, made everything screwy until you didn't know if you were coming or going. Even he didn't know what he trusted anymore. It was hardly a surprise that the rest of them felt the same.

But still - it hurt. He wanted to go and speak to Doyle and Cordy. Even if they didn't approve of his going to Wolfram and Hart, at least they would be happy to believe that Lilah was up to something shady. They would believe Angel's version of events. And that would be some comfort to him.

It was already dark - he could go over there right away - no one would miss him … but, as soon as he'd finished that thought and as if to prove him wrong, the door opened and Harmony walked in. 'Boss we just got a tip some looney's hatched from the bin.'

He wrinkled his brow, 'a who did a what?'

'A girl over in the nuthouse went all cuckoo's nest. Hacked up a couple of guards and went over the wall.'

'Really not our department, Harmony. Notify the authorities and let them deal with it.'

'O_kay_,' she looked doubtful. 'But they better bring a priest. Looks like she's gone all kinds of exorcist.'

'Wait a minute, she's possessed?'

'_Duh!_ … did I not say that?'

He shook his head. 'OK - thanks Harmony, I'll deal with it.'

'You want me to get the swat team?'

But he shook his head again - he didn't want to go storming in there. Possession cases needed to be handled really carefully. They were a real finesse job.

* * *

The elevator bell dinged - and the doors to both elevators opened simultaneously. Angel and Spike stepped out - and then spotted each other, and looked annoyed.

'Well fancy this,' Spike chuckled, as Angel chose to ignore him and started to walk away down the hall. 'Bitty slug I saved you from scrambled your brains after all? Come to check yourself in?' He started to follow Angel, falling in step with him.

'What are you doing here, Spike?'

'Didn't you get the memo? Hero of the people, now.'

'Then go and annoy them,' he said, through gritted teeth. 'Look - shouldn't you be out in the streets, you know, protecting the city … from people like you?' They walked past the gate that Dana had destroyed.

'Go where I'm needed,' Spike said.

'Which isn't here!' They arrived at the nurse's station and Angel handed his business card over to the sister in charge, just as Dr. Rabinaw came out of the office. 'Can I help you?' the doctor asked.

'Other way around, mate,' Spike said, 'I'm…'

'Here to get your patient back,' Angel cut in, impatiently. 'Angel, Wolfram and Hart.'

Dr Rabinaw frowned, 'a lawyer? We already told the police everything we know.'

'Well, let's go over it again - just in case you left out any details.'

'What he said,' Spike agreed cheerfully, peering over Angel's shoulder, 'but with a bit more of a threat at the end.'

...

The doctor took them down to Dana's room - it was small and dark, but the walls were entirely covered in drawings. The drawings were simple - like a child had done them - and rendered in crayon, they were bright and vibrant - but deeply, deeply disturbing. Each one depicted a monster - a demon of some sort - and many of them included a girl, facing up to the snarling monster all alone.

'Dana was a special case,' Dr. Rabinaw explained to them. Her family had been murdered in their home when she was only ten. Dana, herself, had been abducted and held captive - tortured - for months. One day, several months later, she had been found walking the streets, naked and bleeding, and barely functional. She had been pretty much catatonic ever since.

'Seems like she snapped out of it,' Spike noted, taking all the drawings she had done recently.

'Several months ago her condition changed,' the doctor said, 'increasing levels of agitation accompanied by explosive outbursts of inhuman strength.'

'Right - demon possession.'

'That's ridiculous!'

Angel sighed, 'Spike, you're not helping …'

'No - I'm doing. You can hang out for the show and tell-me-nothing,' he ripped one of the drawings down from the wall, 'but I got me a demon that needs repossessing.' He stalked out of the room.

Angel looked at the doctor apologetically. 'Sorry, he's … is pathological idiot an actual condition?'

'May I suggest you stop your friend? If he finds Dana he's only going to wind up dead, like the others.'

But that only made Angel sigh. 'Yeah - but he'll just end up coming back.' The doctor left the room and Angel turned back to examine the drawings further. Then he sensed someone standing behind him, in the doorway. 'What isn't he telling me?' he asked. He turned round - it was the nurse standing there. 'Rabinaw videoed all his sessions with Dana,' she said.

'Show me.'

* * *

Dana had found her way to an all night grocery store. The fluorescent lights flickered a little over head, dimming their sickly glare for a moment - and bland music piped away in the background. She ignored all of it; standing in the middle of her aisle, still in her hospital gown, eating things right out of the boxes.

A stock boy walked past the end of the aisle and noticed her there - taking in her hospital gown - and approached her carefully. 'Uh - hey you gonna pay for that?' he asked her, his voice was friendly, he was smiling. 'You can't just eat them out of the boxes like that - you gotta take 'em up to the register and pay for them first,' he told her. She ignored him and opened up another packet. He frowned. 'Hey come on,' he reached out to grab her shoulder, 'knock it off will -'

Dana turned, grabbed the hand that was touching her and twisted it until she heard the bone snap. The stock boy screamed out in agony and fell to the floor. She grabbed her bone saw off the shelf and walked away, still ignoring him.

She went over to the clothes section, pulled a pair of jeans off the rack and put them on over her gown. Then she picked up a t-shirt - it was black, plain - and it made her freeze up.

...

_The bad man in the black shirt walked past Dana, as she was chained to the pipes. She cried and cried - for her daddy, for the bad man to let her go - but he ignored her, and daddy was gone. The bad man picked up a saw from his workbench and walked over to Dana…_

_..._

'When you're done with the whole Winona Ryder tribute crime spree, I hope you have the cash to pay for all that.' Dana snapped out of her reverie and looked up - there was a young woman, about the same age as Dana, standing in front of her. 'Dana, right? Or at least, that's who you were,' Cordelia said, 'we're here to help.' She indicated herself and the man standing nervously behind her. 'Not the clothes I would have picked out,' she said - eyeing the jeans and tee - 'but hey, my boyfriend's a demon too - I guess bad dress sense just runs in the species huh?...' She trailed off as she got a clear look at Dana's face - and saw the blood stains. 'Though I see you've already made some interesting sartorial choices…' She raised her fists. 'Doyle, stay back.' Behind her, Doyle took a few paces back, looking worried. 'Remember to go easy on her,' he said, 'whatever's in there - the body's just a girl.'

Dana saw the raised fists, and smiled to herself. Not just a girl anymore. 'Strong,' she said.

'I am,' the woman told her.

Dana hit herself on her chest with her fist, over her heart, 'stronger.'

Cordy got the first hit in, sending the blood daubed woman spinning backwards. But Dana regained her footing and launched herself through the air, she kicked Cordelia right in the chest and then landed and kept on kicking, Cordelia staggered backwards, before grabbing hold of the kicker's leg. She swung the other woman around - so hard she actually left the ground, and then let go. Dana crashed into the racks of clothes and brought them crashing to the ground. But she flipped herself back up and hit out once again.

Cordelia blocked the hit - and then smacked Dana with a southpaw. Dana grabbed hold of her by both shoulders and headbutted her as hard as she could. Cordy cried out in pain, and then dug her nails in Dana's arm - making the other woman release her from her grip. Then she brought her arm up sharply, striking Dana under the chin, making her head snap backwards and causing her to stagger back a step. But it only lasted a moment - and then Dana was back, she and Cordelia traded blow after blow - slamming each other around the aisle, crashing into the racks, destroying the store around them.

Cordy managed to flip Dana onto the ground, but the other woman rolled across the floor - and grabbed the bone saw that had fallen there. She jumped back to her feet and was about to launch herself, weapon raised, at Cordelia when a new voice shouted. 'Freeze!' She turned to look.

A security guard was standing there, pointing his gun at the armed woman. 'Yeah - you're good right about there - hands where I can see 'em.'

Dana began to smile again.

'No!' Doyle cried out, trying to shove the security guard out of the way. But Dana grabbed him one handed and threw him down to the aisle towards Cordy. He crashed into her and they both fell to the floor, knocking over an entire rack of clothes - which fell on top of them.

The security guard squeezed his trigger - but before he could finish the job, Dana had slashed out with her bone saw once more…

...

Now dressed in a tank top, plaid shirt and her new jeans, Dana walked away from the grocery store - her bone saw dripping with fresh blood.

* * *

Inside the video room, Angel watched the tape of Dana's therapy session. 'Therapy' was putting a generous spin on it. She was restrained in a straight jacket and she was yelling at the camera, thrashing around and speaking in a foreign language.

'And that's _with_ the thorazine,' the nurse told him.

Angel looked at the stack of tapes on the shelf, 'those are all of Dana?' he asked. The nurse nodded. Dr. Rabinaw wanted to write a book on her - that's why he didn't want anyone knowing about the filmed sessions. 'Wait,' he frowned and rewound the tape - going back to a bit he'd already seen. Dana was yelling in a foreign tongue and breathing hard.

'They're pretty much all like that,' the nurse told him, 'bunch of monkey gibberish.' But Angel shook his head. 'It's Romanian,' he told her.

'You understand what she's saying?'

'I do.'

* * *

The police had arrived at the supermarket, their cruisers were parked up and the sirens flashing. The paramedics wheeled out the body of the security guard, a sheet draped over him. Witnesses were being held inside - so the police could take statements - but the whole parking lot was a scene of noise and confusion and barely concealed panic. Spike walked around, taking it all in. he dropped to the floor, dipping his fingers into some substance that was there. He smelled the substance - then stood up again, and walked away.

* * *

Wesley was sat at his desk, researching demon possessions as Angel had asked him to do before he had left the office. It was troubling, that a demon had lodged itself inside a young woman who was already struggling with reality. Who knew the effects such an experience would have on her psyche. Or on the psyche of the demon, for that matter - he remembered only too clearly the ethros who had got himself trapped inside a soulless little boy, how it had welcomed death after a year in that hollow abyss, watching the little boy's evil play out in front of its helpless eyes. The phone began to ring and he reached out and picked it up. 'Wyndam Pryce.'

'Wes, it's me,' Angel was driving, speaking on his car phone. 'Check with our police informants - get her last known sightings. I need a technical assault team on the ground in 5 minutes. Non lethal ordinance.'

Wesley frowned. 'Do you think that's wise?' he asked, 'I've been brushing up on demonic possession and -'

'That's not what's happening.' He told Wesley about the drawings he had seen, all the different demons - hundreds of them. 'Some had a little girl in them. I thought at first they were Dana, but they were all different. It's not her.'

'Are you sure? Multiple personality manifestations are often associated with cases of possession.'

'Look it's not just the drawings. I saw a tape of her. She was speaking a half a dozen languages. One of them was Romanian…'

* * *

Dana walked through the deserted warehouse, her bone saw still clutched in her hand. It was quiet here - abandoned. It smelled dusty and familiar, the air was dry - but it wasn't what she was looking for. And she was too high up. She stared out of the window - far too high up.

'Enjoying the view are we?' a voice said behind her. 'What say we have a nice, quiet chat about mistreating little girls…' Spike morphed into his vamp face. 'Demon to demon.'

* * *

Angel pressed down on the gas and sped down the street. 'She was yelling about being chosen,' he said into the phone. 'Wes - she isn't a demon._ She's a vampire slayer.'_

* * *

Inside the warehouse, Dana turned around, saw the vampire standing in front of her - and smiled.


	43. Damage: Part Two

_Part Two_

Cordelia and Doyle were still trapped inside the grocery store, having to give witness statements to the police. 'So - how was it you came across her?' the officer asked, taking out his little notebook. They glanced at each other. 'We were - you know - in the store…' Cordy said. She hoped they never checked the cctv - which would show them running in well after this had all started going down. 'We saw what she did to that stock guy, breaking his wrist - and went to you know … stop her.'

'The two of you?' the police officer raked them with a suspicious glance. 'Why didn't you just alert security?'

'Well - look what happened when security tried to intervene,' Doyle pointed out. 'See - uh - her name's Dana, we know her - a bit. Thought we might be able to talk to her.'

The officer looked around at the smashed up aisle, 'doesn't look like there was a whole lot of talking.' Cordelia fidgeted and looked sheepish. 'You say you know her? The suspect?' the officer clarified. They both nodded. 'But she's been inside a mental hospital for the past 15 years.'

'So we knew how dangerous she was,' Cordelia said, improvising. 'We knew not just anybody could go round approaching her - especially not a guy with a gun. So I tried to talk her round, she attacked me and we were … discussing our differences when the security guy showed up.'

'I tried to get him to back off,' Doyle said, 'but …' he shook his head sadly. The sentence didn't really need finishing.

The cop sighed, and rubbed his forehead under the band of their police cap. 'Man - this is one of those weird ones,' he said. 'I wish we still had Detective Lockley, she always knew what to do with the freakazoid cases.'

'Oh - you knew Kate?' Cordelia asked. The cop looked surprised. 'We knew her too, we actually worked with her on quite a few occasions. We're private investigators - we cover the weird cases too … listen, I know if she were here she would understand that there was nothing more that we can tell you - and that there's not much you can do to stop this lady. But we can - stop her, I mean. Kate would let us go so we can get on with our job.'

The police officer gave her a speculative look, as if deciding whether she was telling the truth or not. Then he sighed - and decided to do what Kate Lockley would tell him to do. 'Well - my report isn't going to make a whole lot of sense anyway,' he said, 'you sure you've told me everything you know?'

'We've told you everythin' we can,' Doyle told him, not exactly answering the question.

'OK - I've got your details, we'll be in touch if we need anything more - you're free to go.'

They thanked him and headed out of the store, back to the Plymouth. 'So what now?' Doyle asked, getting into the driving seat. 'That girl's long gone - and the big, bad demon inside o' her has gone with her.'

'I'm not so sure she was a demon,' Cordelia said. He looked at her in surprise, 'well - how else do y' explain the way she just fought? She whaled on y' darlin' - I mean, you held your own - but it was a pretty even match.'

'Exactly…' Cordy nodded her head at his words. 'That's what I mean.' She twisted in the passenger seat so she was facing him. 'Doyle, I've faced off against vampires, demons and the legions of doom in my time. I've got a pretty good gauge on what their strength is. But I've only ever been hit that hard once before.'

'And when was that?'

'You remember that time - back in the old days - when Faith had just woken up from her coma and she was waiting for us in my apartment? She knocked me out.'

'You're saying this Dana girl hits as hard as Faith?' Doyle asked, sounding surprised.

'I'm saying she hits as hard as _me_,' Cordelia corrected.

'Oh - you mean …?'

'Yeah - I mean.'

* * *

Spike saw her smile from under the dishevelled wreck of her hair. 'What are you grinning at?'

She didn't answer - instead she just launched herself at him, screaming and swinging her bone saw. He dodged the blow. 'Oh yeah, look at the big, bad demon hiding inside the helpless little girl.' He kicked out, and knocked the saw from her hand, it clattered away to the floor. Then he pushed her - throwing her into a pile of debris. 'Why don't you come out of there and we can have a proper go, mate?'

Dana pushed herself up from out of the debris, and grabbed a fragment of splintered wood as she got back to her feet. Spike glanced at the makeshift stake, 'or you could just do that.'

She came at him again, stake raised and thrust it at his chest, grunting. He dodged - once more, and she tried again and again, though every time he managed to move quickly enough that she missed his heart. She came in for one more attempt, but he ducked and rolled out of the way. He got back to his feet but she was already waiting for him. She struck him in the head and then pinned him against the wall - plunging her stake towards his chest.

He caught it in his hands before it could penetrate. She growled at him - in a foreign language. He caught the words, recognising them but not understanding - and he grinned. 'Sorry love, I don't speak Chinese.' He punched her in the face and kicked her away from him.

She hit back - and they went round and round, punching and kicking, dodging and weaving - until, eventually, Dana just grabbed hold of him and launched him across the room, throwing him through the window.

The glass shattered on impact and then he was freefalling through the air. It felt - for a moment - like everything had slowed down. He could hear the wind whistling in his ears and see the fragments of glass sparkle in the air beside him, like fallen stars. And then it was like time sped up again - running double time - as he hurtled towards the ground and smashed into the floor, face first; his whole body slamming against the tarmac amidst a shower of broken glass.

He heard the squeal of brakes and a car pull up beside him, as he slowly got to his feet, shaking the shattered glass from his hair and clothes. 'What happened?' Angel demanded, getting out of the car.

'Oh, I just thought I'd see what it's like to bounce off the pavement. Pretty much what I expected.'

Angel shook his head in annoyance - and moved towards the building Spike had just fallen from, looking up at the broken window. 'Stay out of it - tactical's on the way.'

'Oh right - sure. She'll hang around until they show up.'

'You should've waited,' Angel said angrily, getting in the other vampire's face.

'Hey - keep your knickers on. At least now I know what we're dealing with. It's a Chinese demon,' he told Angel, matter of factly, 'maybe a water dragon or one of those elemental thingies.' Angel just sighed and rolled his eyes, walking away. 'What?' Spike yelled after him.

* * *

The elevator bell rang and they both stepped out into the lobby of Wolfram and Hart. 'a psychotic vampire slayer,' Spike said - like he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

'And you let her get away,' Angel said, from between his teeth.

'At least I was trying to stop her.'

'Yeah - how'd that work out for you?'

'At least I know the game now, don't I?' He pulled Angel to a stop. 'I killed two slayers with my own hands - think I can handle one that's gone daft in the melon.'

'You're not handling anything, Spike, OK?' Angel disagreed, 'Wes contacted Rupert Giles - he's sending his top guy to retrieve her.'

They headed into the conference room - where the whole team were assembled waiting for them. There was another figure in there, with their back to the door, who swivelled their chair around when they heard the two vampires enter. He was wearing a tweed suit and holding a pipe. Spike stared at the newcomer. The newcomer stared back. 'Spike?' he put the pipe down.

'Oh for the love of…'

'Spike?' Andrew got to his feet - his voice was frantic. He rushed over and began to touch Spike, feeling his shoulders. 'It's you! It's really you!' he wrapped his arms around the vampire and began to sob. 'My therapist said I was holding onto false hope - but I knew you'd be back.' He pulled back to stare into Spike's eyes. 'You're like, you're like Gandalf the white - resurrected from the pit of the Balrog.' He began to touch Spike's face, 'more beautiful than ever.' He went back to hugging Spike tightly around the neck and weeping gently. 'He's alive, Frodo, he's alive…'

Angel could not keep the evil smirk of delight off his face. 'You two know each other?' Spike cast him a very dirty look. Andrew stepped away from Spike, sniffled, and straightened his lapels. 'Um yeah - um - we saved the world together. I mean, Buffy helped - but it was mostly us.'

Wesley got to his feet and coughed pointedly, 'we were just bringing everybody up to speed on slayer mythology,' he said. He looked around the table at the team - the ones who had never been to Sunnydale - and opened his mouth as if to start talking.

'I'll take it from here, Pryce,' Andrew interrupted him, 'best they hear it from an expert.'

'Oh right, let the top man have a go,' Spike scoffed.

Wesley raised an eyebrow, but smiled pleasantly and sat back down. 'Please … enlighten us.'

Andrew walked back to the table. 'Gather round and attend if you will,' he said in his storyteller voice, 'to a most unusual tale I like to call … the slayer of the _vampyrs_.' He rested his fist on his chin and looked thoughtful for a moment. There was an awkward silence around the table - and he coughed, lowered his hand and continued talking. 'Aeons ago, on the dark continent,' he walked around the table, 'three wise elders decided to fight evil with a taste of its own sinistro.' He stood behind Fred and put his hands on her shoulders. 'They took a young girl and imbued her with the power of a demon,' he crooked his forefingers next to Fred's temples - making rudimentary horns. 'Thusly, the first slayer of the _vampyrs_ was born.'

He walked further round the table, coming to a stop behind Wesley. 'But alas - the existence of a slayer is often brutal and short lived. And the "primitive" as she was called boasted no exception. But … the elders had foreseen this inevitability and had devised a way for her power to live on.'

'In each generation one is chosen,' Fred said.

Andrew nodded. 'There are many potentials as we experts call them.'

'Hundreds - maybe thousands - per generation,' Wesley clarified for the team.

'Each of them experiencing vivid dreams - some say nightmares - of the heroics of past slayers. But only one may be chosen.'

Angel sighed deeply and then forced a smile. 'That's really great, Andrew, but we already knew all this.'

Andrew picked up his pipe and lit it. 'You think you know, my good man, you think you know.' He inhaled - and began to choke.

Lorne was looking confused - and a little worried. What he was hearing couldn't mean anything good for a girl he'd come to care about just last year. 'So - if there's only one slayer, what is little-miss- whack-your-head-off doing running around?'

But Spike was smiling, 'little Sunnydale surprise,' he said.

Andrew sat back down at the table - and told the tale. 'Six months ago, Buffy, _vampyr_ slayer extraordinaire, had her lesbian witch make with the beaucoup de magie. Facing an unbeatable peril in the incorporeal First Evil - and with nothing but an army of young girls at her back, scared for their lives and untested in battle, Buffy had Willow use the essence of the slayer scythe to call forth the power of the slayer line and imbue it in all those who might possess it. One light show later…'

'And all the potentials become slayers,' Angel nodded, understanding all of a sudden how it was Buffy had managed to defeat the First when, just the night before - the night he'd given her the amulet - she had seemed sure she would lose. After all - that was why she had rejected his help, why Spike had ended up wearing the amulet. Angel had been Buffy's second front for when the First got past Sunnydale. Or that was what she had told him - he refused to believe that she had simply chosen Spike over him to be her champion.

'An army of slayers,' Wesley said thoughtfully - wrapping his head around a concept that flew in the face of everything he had ever been taught. It was so like Buffy - she had always turned her back on tradition, on the council. His father must be fuming with rage, if he knew. But - he had to admit - it did make more sense than just one girl in all the world. It was a brilliant stratagem. But - ever the watcher - he still had questions. 'With the watcher's council destroyed, how will these new slayers receive their necessary…'

'Mr. Giles and a few key Sunnydale alum have been tracking down the recently chosen.' Andrew reached down and brought out his brown-bag lunch. It had a picture of the Union Jack carefully coloured in on it and Andrew's name written underneath. 'Uh - guiding them, training them…' he took out a ziploc bag of goldfish crackers and began to eat them. 'Giving them the full X men minus the crappy third act. But this Dana girl - she's an anomaly that no one could have foreseen; tortured, traumatised - driven insane by Yoda knows who.'

'And then the dreams of demons and superpowers she's always had suddenly become real,' Angel said slowly.

Wesley nodded his head. 'The dreams of slayers are usually just that - dreams. But Dana's mental instability may be making them seem real.'

'My hypothesis, exactly, Pryce,' Andrew said, sounding impressed. He took a little red notebook out of his breast pocket and began to write in it. 'I see Mr. Giles may have been wrong about you.' Wesley looked like he didn't quite know what to say to that.

But, across the room, Spike was coming to a realisation. All this bugaboo about shared slayer dreams explained why the girl had been talking Chinese to him back at the warehouse. She was thinking of the slayer he took out during the Boxer Rebellion.

'You mean the slayer you _murdered_,' Angel said to him. Spike looked over at him, irritated, 'well I didn't have a soul back then, did I?'

''Cause it's making such a difference now.'

But Spike had had enough of the chatter. 'You corporates go ahead with your talky talk,' he told the team, 'anybody needs me, I'll be out doing _his_ job.' He jerked his thumb towards Angel and then stalked out of the conference room.

* * *

'So what now?' Doyle asked. 'We've got a slayer out there - lost - criminally dangerous … how are we gonna track her? Where do we even start?'

'Could you - you know - go cactus face and sniff her out?'

But he shook his head. He wasn't that good at tracking - not over long distances - and he didn't know this girl's scent. Sure, he could do it, in a pinch, with someone he was familiar with - but a virtual stranger, who he'd only spent time with in his human form… there was no way he could do that.

'But it could take hours for us to look her up on the net and work out where she might go - we don't even know her last name!'

Doyle shrugged, 'I don't know what to suggest.'

'Well we can't just leave her out there!' Cordelia exclaimed. 'Remember how dangerous Faith was when we first knew her? This girl is a step beyond her - several steps beyond. And think about me last week, how dangerous I was - crazed slayers, they can't be left wandering around. It's not fair on the local populace. We need to capture and contain this girl.'

'How are we gonna do that? Even if, by some miracle, we catch her … how are we gonna stop her from runnin' off again? We can't just keep her tied to the bed for the rest of her life.'

'Yeah - I know,' Cordelia sighed and pushed her hands through her hair. 'I've been thinking - maybe we can't do this one alone? Maybe it's time we go to the rest of the team. 'cause I think it's gonna take the full might of Wolfram and Hart to keep this girl contained.'

Doyle gave her a searching look, 'you sure about this?' She nodded. 'I really think it's for the best.'

'OK,' he shrugged, and switched the engine on - driving away from the grocery store and headed in the direction of the law firm.

* * *

Spike walked back towards the elevators. Angel left the conference room and hurried after him. 'Spike, you really think this is a joke?'

'Only if you're the punchline.'

Angel reached out and grabbed hold of his shoulder, pulling him to a stop and making him turn to face him. 'Look, we're the last two people that should be confronting her. She's a slayer - she has every reason to hate us and she's unstable. In her mind there probably aren't any good _vampyrs_.' He winced as he realised he had said the word like Andrew, Spike grinned in delight. 'Vampires,' he hastily corrected himself. 'She exists for one reason - to destroy creatures like us.'

'Dance of death eternal struggle, right got it.' Spike nodded and turned away, walking off once more. Angel sighed. 'You will,' he called after him, 'when she's staking you through the heart.'

Spike came to a stop and turned back, looking mightily irritated. 'What do you want me to do? Go all boohoo 'cause she got tortured and driven out of her gourd? Not like we haven't done worse back in the day.'

'Yeah - and it's something I'm still paying for.'

'And you should let it go, mate, it's starting to make you look old.' With a final smirk, Spike turned back to the elevators - and Angel watched him leave, knowing there was nothing he could say to get through to him.

...

In the doorway of the conference room, Andrew stood watching them, sucking on a juicebox - and listening in to what they were saying.

* * *

Dana walked alone through the docks, her bone saw still dangling from her hand. This place … this place was more right. Not quite right - not yet but … _the bad man went to the air vent and took away the grille. He kept the box behind it. Dana knew what was in the box. Yellow makes you weak. Brown makes you sleepy. She began to cry and scream …_ Dana flinched - hearing the echoes of her own screams inside her head. So much pain, so much fear … not anymore.

'Hey, are you OK?' she turned her head, sharply. A man was approaching her. 'You hurt? Miss? You need some help?' He reached out to touch her shoulder - and she stared down at his hand...

* * *

The elevator bell rang - yet again - and this time it was Doyle and Cordy who arrived in the lobby. 'Cordy, Doily, hey!' Harmony greeted them cheerfully from behind the front desk, 'what are you guys doing here?'

'Hey, Harm,' Cordelia said, 'is your boss around?'

Harmony rolled her eyes, 'conference room,' she said, ' all of them. But unless you're a flipped out, cuckoo bird slayer they're not even going to notice you're there - they've been locked in there for hours. It's a whole big thing.'

'Cuckoo bird slayer?' Doyle said, repeating Harmony's words, 'you mean - you guys already know about Dana? Well … that'll save us some time. Thanks, Harmony.' They hurried on through to the conference room and pushed the door open.

...

The team were inside poring over blueprints and maps of the city. Angel paced up and down, 'maybe Spike was right,' he said, doubtfully, 'maybe we should just go after … guys…' he looked surprised as he saw his two friends standing there, 'what are you two…?' Even amidst this madness and uncertainty, he was pleased to see them.

'Actually we kinda came for some help,' Cordy said. Angel gestured the bustle of activity in his conference room, 'you know I'd love to - but we have this case and…'

'Mentally unstable vampire slayer roaming about Los Angeles killin' people?' Doyle asked him, then he nodded his head, 'yeah, Harmony said. That's what we're workin' on too. We actually came across her at a grocery store but … she got away.'

'We weren't really prepared for a psycho slayer with her own bone saw,' Cordy said. 'We just thought it was a run of the mill demon possession.'

Wesley nodded his head and looked thoughtful, 'that was our original hypothesis,' he told them, 'however Rupert Giles has sent ...' he coughed, 'someone from the Watcher's Council who filled us in with more details.'

'Turns out, Buffy - well technically Willow - pulled off this neat little trick,' Angel explained to the newcomers. 'Somehow she channelled all the energy of the slayer line and shared it out between every girl who could potentially have been the chosen one. There's an army of slayers out there now.'

Cordelia and Doyle glanced at each other. 'Yeah - we already knew that,' she said.

'You did?'

'Doyle had a vision - back when it happened. I guess Buffy didn't really give much thought to how her nifty little spell would affect … all the girls that it affected.'

'Well, I think she was just trying to save the world.'

'Uhuh - but the side effect of that is this Dana chick … and who knows if she's the only one out there like her? Plus being made a slayer is way inconvenient for ... all the others.'

'So anyway,' Doyle said, 'we knew we couldn't capture and contain this girl all by ourselves - so we came to you - and I'm glad to see you're already on the case. Because um … she really is quite dangerous, if what happened to that security guard is anythin' to go by. We need to find her - and fast.'

Angel sighed and sat down at the table. That was all very good and all - but they really didn't know where to look. And that wasn't the only problem either, as Fred pointed out, finding her was only half the battle. What did they do with her then? Kill her? 'What's happening to her isn't her fault,' she said.

'She is non compos mentis,' Gunn said, absently, reading through some of the files on Dana. Doyle raised his eyebrows at the legalese - but didn't say anything. He sat down next to Angel and put his feet up on the table, crossing his legs at the ankles. 'The girl's leavin' a trail of bodies in her wake,' he said, 'I think we need to find her, sedate her and then worry about what happens afterwards when afterwards comes. Though I think maybe it's fair to say that maybe the facility she just escaped from is no longer equipped to deal with her … unique circumstances.'

Angel nodded. He pointed to the map pinned to their crime board - and all the tacks stuck into it. These were the places she had been sighted since her escape. Tactical were doing a non engagement sweep - looking to find her - but the radius of sightings meant they would have to cover around 60 blocks. And such a search would take days - if they were lucky. This needed to be narrowed down. 'Witnesses say it was like she was looking for something,' he informed the team, 'we need to find out what.'

'Why not start at the source?' Lorne suggested, 'where this started for her. She was abducted from home, right?'

'That was over 15 years ago,' Angel pointed out.

'Houses have long memories, Angel cakes, you just have to know how to get them to talk.'

Angel sighed, 'fine, set it up, but get Andrew in on this. See if he knows … anything.'

But Fred only frowned - she didn't think Andrew was still hanging around. Angel looked put out. 'What? Where did he go?'

* * *

Spike prowled his way through the docks - trying to catch scent of the girl he was hunting, or of anything that might lead him to her. Instead - he only became aware of someone dogging his steps from behind the fence. 'Right we can play Cat and Mouse all night…' he reached over, grabbed hold of his stalker and hauled Andrew out of his hiding spot. 'Or I can just wedgie you unconscious and be done with it.' he dropped him, and Andrew staggered a little before righting himself.

'Bravo. I see your senses seem to be as well honed as your Vigo Mortensen pectorals.'

'What are you doing out here, Andrew?' he began to walk away down the docks. Andrew hurried after him. 'This is where the action is, bro, on the mean streets. Can you dig it?'

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes, trying to maintain his precarious grip on his wafer thin patience. 'Go back to Wolfram and Hart. Don't have time for games.'

'Well that's good - 'cause Andy aint playing.' He pulled open his trench coat to reveal several handguns stashed in the lining. 'You're not the only one who's changed,' he said, seeing Spike's surprised expression. 'Mr. Giles has been training me. I'm faster, stronger and 82% more manly than the last time we…' he stopped talking as he tripped over something lying in his path, and fell flat on the floor.

He twisted to see what it was that had caused him to fall, and came face to face with Dana's latest victim, lying dead on the ground with his throat cut out. Andrew began to scream.

* * *

The front door opened and Angel, Cordy and Lorne stepped inside the suburban house, alongside the realtor and one of Wolfram and Hart's psychics. 'Hardwood floors, central air,' the realtor listed, 'original wainscoting - it's a real charmer of a house.'

The Psychic walked further inside, closed his eyes and raised his hands - as if feeling for the energy in the room. 'The walls scream with the blood of the innocent.'

The realtor looked unnerved. 'Well - I'll just wait in the car. Holler if you have any questions and remember - it's a seller's market.'

Meanwhile, the psychic was stroking the walls, twisting his head this way and that as he felt the many emotions that still existed within them. 'You sure this guy's reliable?' Angel whispered to Lorne, unable to hide the doubt in his voice.

'Oh yeah - Vernon's top drawer. He does all Tom Arnold's readings.'

'And this really works?' Cordelia asked, 'houses really store their histories in their walls?' Lorne nodded at her, as Angel asked the psychic what he was picking up. The psychic inhaled deeply. 'Fear … anguish … pain.'

'That's nice and vague,' Cordy muttered.

'He needed them to suffer,' the psychic said, catching a glimpse of the man who had done this in his mind's eye. He saw the man approach the baby's crib … and when he was done there, go looking for Dana. 'She doesn't know him … she tries to be still … invisible… but he senses her.' He saw the man lift the mattress from the bed and toss it aside, revealing the girl cowering underneath. Dana screamed. 'She's gone.'

'Where? Where did he take her?' Angel demanded.

The psychic inhaled again - deeply - and then breathed out. 'Dark,' he said, quietly, 'the floor is cold, the air is thick with…' he breathed in, 'dust, and the smell - sickly sweet like … molasses.' He gasped and opened his eyes, 'a basement. That's where her pain lives.'

* * *

Dana walked down the concrete steps. This place… this was the place - it was right. The air, the dust, the cloying, sickly smell. This was what she had been looking for. She crossed to the air vent and removed the grille, just like she had seen the bad man do a hundred times. She took out the box from inside and opened it up, revealing the hypodermic needles inside.

_The bad man took the syringe out if the box and depressed the plunger, sending some of the liquid shooting across the room. 'Let's try the blue one this time.' He crossed to where Little Dana was chained up and knelt down in front of her. Little Dana stared up into the face of her captor … it was the vampire from before, the one with the peroxide blonde hair._


	44. Damage: Part Three

_Part Three_

Gunn had stepped out of the conference room and back into his own office for a few moments, in order to take an important phone call. He was just winding it up - and enjoying every moment of it. 'Yes I know,' he said into the receiver, 'but he wouldn't have pled nolo contendere if he had known about the exculpatory evidence being withheld by the prosecutor's office… look, look, set up a meeting with Judge Braedon. Closed chambers...Screw the D.A, he's the one trying to pull a fast one. Let him read about it in the newspaper.' He hung up the phone.

'Screw the D.A, huh?' he looked up sharply, and saw Doyle standing, leaning against the door frame, his arms folded across his chest and looking none too impressed with what he was hearing. 'Is that how you do things around here? Play chicken with elected public officials?'

Gunn raised an eyebrow - he had noted the hardness in the Irishman's voice. 'Just a little professional rivalry,' he said, keeping his own voice cool. 'If you wanna see ugly you should see us out on the links.'

'So that's how the system works in the Land o' the Free, huh? People's futures decided over games of golf. Well ... Makes me glad I'm not a citizen.'

'Sometimes you gotta work the system before the system works you.'

'That your new motto?'

'Is there something that you wanted, Doyle?'

The Irishman shrugged. 'I was just … checking in - seein' how things were goin' down this week.'

Gunn sighed, leaned back in his chair and fixed Doyle with a hard stare. 'Look - I know you chose a different path to the rest of us. I know you don't approve of the path we're on. And you know - you're right - our move to Wolfram and Hart hasn't been all flowers and candy, but we've been able to do some serious good here.'

'You've also done some serious harm here.'

It was Gunn's turn to shrug. 'Lives saved, disasters averted,' he listed '- all with our fingers and toes attached …'

'Threatening the D.A, endangering innocent people, plus some pretty top drawer flunkeying for demon Lords of the underworld,' Doyle listed right back at him

'We made the right choice coming here,' Gunn said, keeping his voice even.

'Is that a fact?'

'It is.'

'And the amount you've changed in the past six months - the things this place has done to y' … none o' that is a concern?'

'What this place has done? Doyle! This place has made me better. They've given me knowledge and purpose - and I can use all that to do more good than I ever could just hitting things with my axe. I get that sometimes folks just don't like to see a brother change, but this place has given me power - and I'm down with that.'

'Yeah,' Doyle narrowed his eyes, 'but if I remember my Sunday schoolin' correctly, the devil was always quick to promise shiny things … but they never came free. There was always a price. And last week … last week it was Cordy who paid the price of you sellin' your soul. Not you. So forgive me if I'm not as 'down' as you with your power upgrade.'

'Look - I'm sorry about what happened to Cordy. I am. And I swear it won't happen again. Working here is a balance. I get that. Now maybe at first I didn't get a hold on it right. But I'm getting better at it - weighing up the costs, playing with those shades of grey. There won't be any more innocent parties getting caught in the crossfire. I'm on top of it all.'

Doyle pushed himself away from the door frame and turned to walk away. 'I hope you're right,' he said, without looking back.

* * *

Spike and Andrew patrolled through the docks - still on the hunt. 'Mostly I talk to Rupert,' Andrew was saying. 'But we all check in. Xander's in Africa, he sent me a mbuna fish. And Willow and Kennedy are in Brazil. They're based in Sao Paulo but - uhm - every time I talk to them they're in Rio.'

Spike came to a stop and sniffed the air - there were traces of blood on it. If he could just follow the scent, it would lead him straight to the bint he was seeking. 'So … uh…' he started walking again and kept his voice overly casual, 'you heard from Buffy lately?'

'Yeah of course. She's in Rome. Dawn's in school there. Italian school.'

'Rome, eh? Never pegged her for the expatriate show.'

Andrew shrugged, she had been rounding up slayers in Europe and had decided that she liked it there. He thought she just needed a break from California… a thought suddenly hit him. 'Wait a minute. She doesn't know you're alive, does she?'

'No,' Spike said, uncomfortably, 'I don't think so. I mean, I don't know … does she?'

'No. N-no…' he thought about it for a moment. 'She can't. I mean - I would have heard about it. We would have had a conference call. Why haven't you told her?'

Spike sighed and made a telephone out of his fingers, holding them to his ear and mouth. 'Hello, Buffy. It's Spike. I didn't burn up like you thought. How's things?' His voice was heavily laden with irony.

Andrew nodded in understanding. 'Uh, do you want me to tell her? 'Cause I'm really good with those - uh - personal, delicate…'

'No,' Spike said quickly. Christ - of all the ways for the slayer to find out he was back in the land of the unliving … 'Don't tell her. I'll take care of it.'

'Got it. You're a loner. Playing it cucumber - as in cool as a…'

'Just keep your mouth shut.'

'No problem, brother - you're a troubled hero. Creature of the night. El creatro del noche.'

''Please stop it.'

'Living by his own rules. Unafraid of anything or anyone…'

...

High above them, on the rooftop of a warehouse, Dana watched the two men walk through the docks. The bad man - the vampire, and the other one. Unseen and unnoticed, she trailed after them, hunting the hunters.

* * *

The three of them walked out of the elevator, back into the lobby. 'Hey, how'd it go?' Gunn greeted them.

'Great - if by 'great' you mean vague clues heaped onto the already vague ass stuff we already knew about her,' Cordy answered.

'We need to find out more,' Angel agreed with her summary. 'Gunn - I want you to find the guy that killed Dana's family. His name, his past, his whereabouts. Everything.'

'Police never caught him.'

'We're not the police. Search her files. Talk to her contacts. Raise the dead if you have to. Just find him. Doyle - I want you to help him, ask around - see if anyone you know remembers this happening. Ask if they know anything.'

'Checkin' with the lowlifes - got it.' The two men walked off and Angel spoke to Lorne. 'I wanna know where he took her after he abducted her. The psychic narrowed it down to a basement that smells like molasses. We can do better than that. Start cracking the whip.'

'You got it chief,' he walked away, calling for his assistant. 'Danny! We're gonna need a whip.'

Cordelia and Angel glanced at each other - and then headed back into the conference room.

* * *

Spike had picked up his pace, walking briskly down the docks. Andrew was having to jog to keep up, but unfortunately that didn't stop him from yammering longer than it took him to draw breath. 'And I say "well the two of us disagree with you hombre" and he's all "the two of you?" and I say "yeah me and my electric net" and then … what's wrong?' he broke off his anecdote to ask, as Spike came to a stop and looked around - alert and wary.

'Blood, smells different. Stronger.' He ran around the corner - Andrew chased after him - looking for the source of the blood, almost intoxicating in its closeness. This took them into an alleyway, where 55 gallon drums were being stored. They were filled with gasoline, and the smell mingled with the smell of the blood. 'Dead end,' Andrew said, looking around. The drums blocked the alleyway off - so the only way out was back the way they had come. It should be obvious that this wasn't a safe place to be … but Spike wasn't paying attention. Instead he was examining a streak of the ruby red smeared on the wall. 'It's her blood,' he said softly.

She dropped down behind them into the opening of the alleyway and - before he could even react, she punched Andrew in the head knocking him out cold. Spike turned to face her, realising he had walked straight into her trap. He punched her and she flew through the air and smashed into a stack of drums. But she got back to her feet and came back swinging. He grabbed hold of her and smashed her head into another of the drums, hearing the hollow clang - it didn't even slow her down, and she wriggled out from his grasp and kicked him in the face.

Down on the ground, Andrew came to. He rolled over - saw the fighting - and reached inside his coat to pull out a tranq gun. He couldn't take aim - they were moving too fast - and he didn't want to risk hitting Spike. But, once she had knocked the vampire to the ground, he saw his opportunity and pulled the trigger. She dodged the dart, and it flew harmlessly past her. Andrew grasped for a second dart, trying to reload as quickly as possible, but Dana kicked him in the face - and he was knocked out once more.

She turned and fled out of the alleyway. Spike struggled back to his feet and - without a backwards glance at Andrew - chased after her.

* * *

'No, no … it was about 15 years ago,' Doyle switched the phone from one ear to the other and listened to what Frankie Tripod had to say. 'Yeah, man, she was taken from a house over in Redondo Beach - was found a few months later, wandering the streets of Wilmington… yeah she was just a kid… yeah, it probably made the news.' He listened to the buzzing down the line as his old contact told him what he knew, and glanced up at where Gunn was combing through Dana's files. He rested the phone against his chest, for a moment, to muffle the sound at his end of the line. 'Found anythin'?' he asked.

'Why - you worried I might endanger someone's life with the knowledge?'

Doyle rolled his eyes, and put the phone to his ear again. 'No - just … any names of any sketchy guys from that area,' he said to Frankie, 'human, yeah, anyone who might have done a thing like that?... uhuh … uhuh ...OK… what happened to him?'

Gunn looked up from his file and leaned across the desk, taking an interest now it sounded like Doyle was getting somewhere.

'Right - we'll check that out. Thanks - I owe y'.' He put the phone down, 'and I'm chargin' that expense to the evil empire,' he told Gunn. 'You guys can pick up the tab.'

'What did he say?'

'Can you pull prints from the police database?'

''Course we can.'

Doyle snorted. 'Right. Well F.T says he knew of this small time creep. Petty loser mostly - but with a real nasty vibe to him, seen him string up a cat for no reason - that sort o' thing… from the right area, right time.'

'And?'

'Police shot him dead in a liquor store robbery five or so years ago. If we match his fingerprints against any prints pulled from the murder house all those years ago…'

'Then that means we got our guy,' Gunn finished up.

* * *

Spike ran down the dock - his feet pounding against the asphalt - but he pulled up short, as he passed a doorway into a warehouse. Her scent lingered around there; she hadn't gone on, she had gone in. He followed her inside - and traced her steps, along the corridor and then down the concrete stairs, just by the smell of her. Sure enough - there she was, standing in the basement. 'Alright pet, no getting away. Got your scent locked in now. Could track you for miles.'

'No escaping,' she said, watching him come down the stairs.

'That's right,' he walked cautiously towards her. 'No escaping. Now all the same … I don't wanna hurt you.'

Dana wrapped her arms around herself and fidgeted. Her head was hanging low and she peered up at him through the dishevelled curtain of her hair, 'doesn't hurt if you hold still.'

'Right.' he shook his head - baffled as to what she was talking about. But Dana was straightening up - and there was a purposeful gleam to her eyes as she looked at the man in front of her. 'Head and heart..' then she collapsed inward again. 'Have to get home … doesn't hurt if you hold still.'

'You really are sack of hammers aren't you?' he chuckled to himself. 'But that's OK - I used to date a girl that wasn't all there…' Though this bird made Drusilla look like the cool ice queen of sanity. The Crown Princess of hold-it-togetheredness.

'Heart and head. Stab the heart. Cut off the head. Only way to be sure.'

He peered at her through the gloom. 'That's slayer talk isn't it?

'Keep cutting until you see dust.'

He remembered the time Buffy had gone briefly crazy. She had thought, due to the infection of a demon, that she was just a very sick girl in an insane asylum, living delusions of being chosen; having friends; fighting demons. It seemed to him like this girl must have lived that life for real, locked away in a hospital, seeing things of Buffy's life, Faith's life - and all the other girl's going back in time - and not understanding what it was she saw, but learning to be afraid anyway. 'Right, let me explain,' he said to her, matter of factly. He knew from long experience that you needed to be matter of the fact in the face of crazy - that humouring a hallucinating girl got you nowhere good. 'You got visions. Right? Vampire slayer memories kicking around in your head. Which is tough … 'cause it sounds like you're past midnight on the crazy clock anyway.'

Dana cowered away from him, 'please don't,' she whimpered, her voice small and terrified. 'I need to get home to my son, to my Robin.'

'Robin?' His face lit up with sudden understanding. 'Oh hey, you're talking about Nikki - the slayer I offed in…' Dana looked up at him, sharply, and he trailed off - remembering his crown accomplishment was maybe not something he should be bringing up in this situation. 'Uh, yeah, you probably don't wanna think about that, pet.'

'William the Bloody,' her voice wasn't a whimper anymore. It was more like a growl, angry and accusatory. He took a step back and held his hands up in protest. 'No no no. That's not gonna lead anywhere good. You need to focus on what's real.' He nodded at her encouragingly. She ignored him. 'Head and heart - don't be scared.'

'Now we're gonna…'

But Dana kicked out, suddenly, knocking him to the ground. And then she was on top of him, a needle in her hand. She stuck it in his neck and depressed the plunger. He smacked her away from himself and tried to get back up … but the drug was already taking effect and he staggered around, weak and disoriented. 'You little minx,' he slurred his words, and bent double - unable to stand up straight. 'What did you do to me?'

'Yellow makes you weak.' She walked up to him and glared into his eyes. 'Not weak anymore.' She hauled back her fist and started hitting him. He cried out and fell to the ground. 'Alright, now you've made me mad…' he said - still slurring, his eyes struggling to stay open.

'Don't cry. They can't hear you.'

Spike collapsed on the floor, and Dana stripped his leather jacket off him - the way he had once stripped it from Nikki Wood - and then dragged him across the cold ground by his arm. _She remembered him carrying her across this room, holding her in his arms - like daddy used to. But not Daddy. He was taking her some place to hurt her. _She dragged him to the pipes and began to chain him up. _She remembered him chaining her to these pipes. She remembered her cries for help. _'Daddy's gone,' she told Spike, 'he can't hear you.' She got to her feet and walked away.

Spike was barely conscious now, his head slumped on his chest. 'Goin' down, love,' he mumbled, 'one way or …'

She came back to him, now holding the box of syringes. 'Piece by piece,' she crouched down in front of him and checked her needle, just like the bad man used to, letting some of the drug squirt out. 'Yellow makes you weak. Brown makes you sleepy.' She jabbed the needle into his neck. 'Can't hurt me anymore.'

'You crazy little...' he couldn't raise his head anymore, and his tongue felt thick in his mouth, his words were barely understandable - and his brain was so foggy he couldn't think to the end of his sentences. 'I _never_ hurt…'

'Shhh - hold still. Count backwards from ten. 10 9 8 7…'

Her voice became more distant and her face became more blurry until - long before she reached zero - everything faded to black.

* * *

Doyle and Gunn had joined the others in the conference room and were now helping with tracing Dana. 'Frankie Tripod gave us a great lead on the guy who did this,' Doyle was telling the others, 'we've tracked him down - now all we need is to find out where he took her.'

'Frankie Tripod?' Fred wrinkled her nose. 'What is that - some kind of three legged demon?'

'No - he's human,' Cordelia told her, absently and without looking up, still skimming through the files on Dana. Fred considered this for a moment: '_ew_.'

'Good - that's good - but what do we know?' Angel asked. Gunn pointed to the map. 'Tactical found the body here - fourth and Camden.'

Angel looked at the map, seeing where it was Gunn had indicated. 'Oh great, she's staying in the area. Let's get aerial surveillance up. Thermal imaging. Have them go block to block, 5 mile radius.'

Doyle raised his eyebrows at that, and whistled long and low. 'Man - you guys got all the gadgets now. How'd you ever used to get the job done when it was just us, the hotel and the Plymouth?'

'Don't be forgetting my sweet girl,' Gunn said. A look of worry fleeted across his face, 'you guys are taking care of my baby, right?' Cordelia nodded - and he looked relieved and then turned back to the question in hand. 'What exactly do you want tactical looking for?' he asked the CEO, 'I mean, this is an industrial area - most of the buildings have a basement of some sort.'

Angel turned to Lorne and asked if the psychics had had any more luck narrowing things down. But it was the same old story. Cold, creepy and smelled like molasses.

'How about,' Wesley stopped himself and laughed sheepishly. 'I almost said the words 'molasses factory' out loud.'

'Whisky!' Fred cried out getting to her feet.

'Oh god bless you, kitten, I was just about to suggest the same thing,' Lorne said, just as Doyle said, 'now you're talkin'!' But Fred shook her head - she wasn't suggesting a stiff drink, she had the answer. When you cooked up whisky it made the whole room smell like molasses. The team looked at each other, excited. 'Look for a distillery,' Angel started barking out orders, 'get maps from ten years ago.'

''This is how they did it when it was just us and the hotel,' Cordy muttered to Doyle, under her breath. 'We never needed any of this hi-tech gadgetry and thermal imaging whatsits … just each other.'

He smiled wryly, 'right - the whole team.'

'Working as one.'

There was a flurry of activity as the team gathered up maps and pulled up business information on the net - until Fred suddenly noticed Andrew standing in the doorway. His face was bloodied and beaten. 'Andrew!'

'We were attacked,' he told the team. He was breathless and his voice was trembling. 'I think she got him. I think she got Spike.'

* * *

Spike faded back into consciousness. His head was heavy and his sight was still blurry and his mouth felt like it was packed with cotton wool. He could hear Dana talking away to herself: 'piece by piece.'

'What'd you do?' he slurred, he was having trouble moving his tongue - and he couldn't lift his head all the way up. And he couldn't feel ... he was numb, he couldn't feel anything below his neck.

'Shh,' she hushed him, 'stay quiet. I'll let you go.' It was the words he'd used on her - time and again - the bad man - back when she was weak. Not weak anymore.

'You're homicidal. What did you do … to me?'

She crouched down in front of him, holding her bone saw. 'Losing all your pieces. Not weak. Can't touch me anymore.'

What did she .. what did that … even through the fog of the drugs, he felt a jolt of dread at her words, as their meaning penetrated the haze of his mind. Slowly - so slowly - unable to feel a thing - he raised his arms so that he could see them. What was left of them. They now ended midway down his forearm. Dana had cut off his hands.


	45. Damage: Part Four

_Part Four_

The team were gearing up ready to go, 'Wes,' Angel barked, pulling on his duster, 'have a tranq gun ready - as soon as you're clear, I need you to take the shot. Fred - we're gonna need medical on stand by. Make sure they're prepped. We got those files on her kidnapper?' Gunn handed them across, 'thanks, we need to be careful and we need to be smart. This girl is a step beyond any demon we've come up against in the past. But she's also an innocent victim. We gotta walk a fine line _and _stay safe. We go in there - I take her out - everyone else, stay back until Wesley has tranqued her.'

Cordelia tugged on his arm and pulled him to the side. 'Angel, I really think you need to reconsider this strategy,' she hissed. He looked perplexed, 'why?'

'_Because!_ She's a deranged vampire slayer and you happen to wear the face of the worst vampire in recorded history to ever walk the earth. She's already taken out Spike - she'll go postal when she sees _you._'

'But she knows Spike - from her slayer dreams. From the Boxer Rebellion and the New York Subway. I've never killed a slayer - she won't know me.'

'Uhuh,' she bit her lip and looked doubtful, 'never _killed_ a slayer, sure. But ... that time you boinked Buffy and turned evil ringing any bells? Are you really so confident it won't ring any bells for Dana?'

'Oh … I hadn't thought about…'

'And what about last year, huh? When you were evil and you bit Faith - nearly killed her. You think that hasn't made it into psycho girl's nightmares?'

'Well - uh - I mean … maybe … but,' he shifted awkwardly, transferring his weight from one foot to the other. 'Cordelia - this girl is strong. Vampire slayer strong. And seriously damaged to boot. If I don't face her … who else is there that can do it?'

Cordelia took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. She hadn't told him this yet - she wasn't sure why - it was just a secret her and Doyle had kept without even really discussing it. Her destiny was their private business, now the rest of the team had left them behind. But now was the time to come clean, to tell Angel the truth about her powers. Too much was on the line to just not mention them. 'Me,' she said, heavily.

* * *

Spike stared through the drug induced fog, blinking at his mutilated wrists. 'Oh God,' he gasped, softly - though it was still a slurred mumble. 'Can't feel my…'

'No!' Dana smacked him across the face, his head turned with the force of the blow. Her voice was angry and frightened at the same time, trembling with rage and sorrow. 'No more daddy, no more mommy … no more hands.' Tears welled up in her dark eyes. 'Can't touch me ever again.'

Spike shook his head, slowly, still feeling the fuzzy, numbing effects of the drugs - his head was still heavy, felt like it might just roll off his shoulders. 'I never touched you…' It took all his concentration to think to the end of the sentence - to get his word out in the right order.

She punched him again. Again his head whipped round under the pressure of her fists. 'Stop - got it all wrong,' he tried to tell her. He willed himself to battle against the somnolent drugs still buzzing their way through his system, to swim his way through the black haze that threatened to suck him back down into unconsciousness - where she would do god knows what to him - and focused on her face; staring intently into her tortured, glaring eyes. 'Your brain's all jumbled. I never hurt you. It wasn't me.'

He shook his head, regretfully - as even in this dazed, drug induced smog he remembered all the bad things he had done. All the little girls he had hurt. He couldn't say he didn't deserve this - that this was not just, that so many lost souls over the past hundred years should have had a chance to tie him down and do exactly this - but hurting him would not help Dana. He wasn't the monster that had hurt her - he wasn't the monster that she needed to fight in order to make things right, to make peace. 'I've done my share of bad,' he admitted - and he knew she knew that; that there was no point denying it. He was already in her head, from what he'd done to Nikki - and to that Chinese slayer. That's why she was confused, she couldn't parse out her slayer nightmares from her past. Spike's face leered at her from her dreams - and that had got jumbled with the memories of her own personal horror story. But she needed to separate them, for her own sake, if not his. 'But you're not one of them,' he told her, shaking his head and gazing into her eyes, pleading with her to see the truth. 'It's someone else.'

Dana stared down at him. She remembered _he carried little Dana across the room, she remembered what it was like to be held in his arms - unable to escape, not knowing what he would do to her next. She remembered looking into his face - the bad man - his blonde hair, his high cheekbones, his eyes leering at her …_ she closed her eyes and saw the bad man again, but this time he was dark haired, older looking, heavier set. Not this man. Someone else…

_He chained her to the pipes - she saw him. Spike. William the Bloody. _No - Spike was a vampire. He was a monster from her nightmares, he fought the other girls - the ones Dana was connected to, the chosen. The monster from her memories was different; human. She saw him in her mind's eye, this dark haired human man who had taken her mommy and daddy, stolen her from her home, chained her up and hurt her - for months. Not this monster. A different monster.

Spike watched her face, carefully. Even trapped under this cotton wool mist he could see the tremors pass across her features, the emotions as she remembered the truth - her own truth, and the experiences of the slayers - dividing them in her mind. 'You've got me mixed up with another man,' he said, softly. 'Visions… are mixing … with your other memories. All right? Got 'em stuffed in your head. Other slayers. Other places. New York … China.'

She spoke a few words of Chinese again, the same words from earlier. '_Tell my mother, I'm sorry.' _

Spike nodded. 'Yeah. That's what you're remembering. Other slayers.'

'You killed her,' her voice was suddenly lucid - and very cold.

'Yes, but…'

'You killed them both.'

'That and worse.' His voice was barely more than a whisper. He shook his head again. 'But I was never here.'

She balled her fist and punched him in the face, over and over again. 'Doesn't matter. Head and heart. Keep cutting until you see dust.' She grabbed her bone saw and wielded it above Spike - but then she was suddenly pulled back and thrown across the room.

...

Spike slumped in relief - not knowing or caring who had saved him. He let his head fall to his chest - it was so heavy and it had taken so much out of him just to lift it up and keep talking. He became dimly aware of Angel by his side - and the whole team - and a guy he didn't recognise, crowded into the basement. He was too … tired… too heavy to worry about who that short guy in the cheap shirt was, or who it was that was fighting Dana. He was just happy to be able to fall back into semi consciousness - now he knew Angel was here. Now he knew he would be safe.

...

Meanwhile, Cordelia had thrown Dana across the room and raised her fists ready for the other slayer to come back at her. Dana righted herself - and stared at the woman. She knew her - they'd fought before. This woman was strong. Strong like Dana. 'You're one of them,' she said, peering at Cordy from beneath her hair. 'One of the girls.' She raised her fists ready to fight, but didn't make a move.

'I'm a slayer, Dana, just like you,' Cordelia said softly, dropping her own fists when she realised that she was not about to be charged. 'And I'm not here to hurt you - I'm here to help you. If you let me.'

'Can't hurt me anymore. Strong.'

'I don't want to try. But I know who did hurt you, Dana - a long time ago. A bad man brought you here, didn't he? Kept you here. You were frightened.'

'Made me weak. Not weak anymore. Slayer.'

'That's right,' She took some tentative steps towards the other woman. 'You and me - and a whole bunch of other girls just like us. We're strong now. Bad people can't hurt us. But we can't hurt other people either - it's not fair. We exist so that we can protect people, we protect the weak - we don't hurt them.' She kept her voice gentle the whole time and made sure not to crowd the traumatised woman.

Watching from across the room, Doyle held his breath - anxious in case Cordy was putting herself in more danger than she could handle. 'Cordy…' he said weakly, as she took a few more steps towards Dana, 'be careful.'

'It's OK - I got it,' she said, still keeping her voice low, as if talking to a frightened horse, and not taking her eyes off the other woman. 'We found out who hurt you, Dana. It was a man called Walter Kindel. He tried to rob a liquor store five years ago and the police shot him. He's dead. He can never hurt you again. But we need you to come with us so we can keep you safe.' She held out her hand, and looked softly into Dana's eyes, willing her to take it. Dana looked unsure. 'We're both slayers, Dana, that makes us sisters. I won't hurt you.'

The room was entirely still - everyone waited, tensed and breathless, to see what Dana would do … and then she nodded and reached out and took Cordy's hand. The whole room let out a breath of relief. Cordelia smiled, and ushered her gently across the room. 'There we …' There was a sudden whizzing noise and three darts buried themselves into Dana's chest. She dropped to the floor, knocked out. Cordy looked up in alarm - to where Wesley was still holding his gun aloft. 'What did you do that for?' she demanded, furiously. 'I had her.'

'We need her contained. We couldn't trust that she would remain cooperative if we transported her conscious.' He pointed his gun at the prone slayer, ready to shoot again if she started to come to.

Cordelia stared at him in disbelief. 'But she trusted me! She was coming quietly - following me out.' There were tears of anger and frustration in her eyes. 'She won't ever trust anyone ever again, now.'

Her words - and these circumstances - echoed a painful memory for Wesley, something Angel had once said - and he fought it down; the memory of his first mistake as a watcher - the first of many: kidnapping Faith from Angel's home, ready to transport her to England - only to lose her to the darkness completely when she escaped. But this wasn't like that, he told himself. Dana was beyond Faith at her most savage, most animal. Dana had seen darkness, suffered darkness, that Faith - for all her anger - could not even conceive of. There was no coming back from the dark for Dana. 'She is beyond trust,' he told Cordelia. His voice was clipped as he spoke, sounding more British - more like a watcher - than he had done in years. 'No one would ever really be able to get through to her. She will always be a danger. To herself and other people.'

'But…'

'Come on, love,' Doyle slipped his hand into hers. 'You did great - but what's done is done. Let's get outta here.' The armed guards began to move Dana onto a gurney and strap her down - and Cordy and Doyle left them to it and headed for the stairs.

...

Still supporting the now fully unconscious Spike, Angel was staring at the grisly sight that had come to his attention whilst the others were preoccupied. Spike's dismembered hands were lying on the workbench. 'We need to get the med team down here,' he yelled at all his many underlings. 'Now!'

* * *

Out on the docks, the night air was lit up by the flashing lights of ambulances. Fred ran alongside the gurney that Spike was strapped down to, speaking into her cell phone. 'Get it prepped. Have surgery on stand by - we'll be there in ten minutes. For god's sake, tell the shaman no cadavers…' she glanced at the medical cooler container being carried past her, 'we have his hands.' She climbed into the ambulance, once Spike was securely inside - and they drove away.

Angel, Wesley and Gunn came out of the basement, with Dana strapped to a gurney - a team of armed guards surrounding her. Cordelia and Doyle were waiting for them, looking uncomfortable about something. 'Chain her into the van,' Angel was firing his instructions at his flunkies, 'I want armed guards with her riding in the back.'

'That's alright boys,' Andrew stepped out from the shadow of one of the ambulances and blocked their path. 'I'll take it from here.' Well that explained what had been troubling Doyle and Cordy.

Angel laughed, 'what?'

But Andrew stood his ground. 'Totally 'preciate your help on this one, big guy. Never could have found her without you. But you got enough problems of your own to be worrying about.'

'Get out of the way, Andrew.' He made as if to walk off. Andrew side stepped - so he was blocking his path again. 'She's a slayer. That means she's ours.'

'Yeah. Sorry. Not how it works.' He started to give instructions to his guards. 'Load her up. Don't hesitate to tranq her if she so much as…'

But Andrew got right up in his face, going on tiptoes for a moment to try and meet him eyeball to eyeball. 'No I don't think you heard me, Angel.' There was a sound of footsteps from behind him - and then a whole team of young women appeared, melting out of the shadows, flanking him. 'Think we're just gonna let you take her back to your evil stronghold? Well, as they say in Mexico … no … we're not … gonna … let you.'

'She's psychotic - and I'm not turning her over … to you.'

'You don't have a choice. Check the viewscreen, Uhura,' he gestured behind him. 'I got twelve _vampyr_ slayers behind me, and not one of them has ever dated you. She's coming with us, one way or the other.'

Inside the crowd, Cordelia narrowed her eyes - looking at the twelve girls who were just like her, but who were working as part of a team. She wondered about them - where they came from - where they had been found, how Buffy had known to look for them. And she wondered what they did, if they were not one girl in all the world but one girl in a family. Earlier, she had called Dana her sister. These girls were her sisters too. But they didn't even know she was there.

Angel was glowering down at Andrew, refusing to back down - even in the face of unbeatable odds. 'You're way out of your league,' he said. 'I'll just clear this with Buffy.'

Andrew looked sad - and a little bit embarrassed. 'Where do you think my orders came from?' he asked quietly. Then he raised his voice, his moment of pity spent. 'News flash - nobody in our camp trust you anymore. Nobody. You work for Wolfram and Hart. Don't fool yourself… we're not on the same side. Thank you for your help but … uh … we got it.' He gestured to the slayers, and the twelve girls started to wheel Dana away. He followed on behind them - and Cordelia watched them go, holding onto Doyle's hand, and fighting the urge to run after them.

Doyle was looking at Angel though. 'Listen, bud - what he said … it's not... I'm sure…'

'It's fine,' Angel said, though his expression was closed and his voice was blank. Wesley turned to look at him. 'So that's it? You just gonna let them take her away?'

'She's one of theirs. They can handle it. Besides … you heard the man. We got enough problems of our own.'

* * *

Spike sat in his hospital bed - his arms were reattached now - which seemed like a bloody miracle, but there it was. They were securely bandaged though, and he only knew they were there because he could see them. Feeling was not yet restored. He didn't know if that was drugs or nerve endings. Angel walked up to the stand in the doorway.

'Come to tap dance on the patient, have we doc? I'd give you the finger … but apparently I won't have the motor skills until the drugs wear off.'

'Lot of pain?' he walked into the room and stood by the bed.

'More than I'd like - but not as much as you would. Just what I deserve.'

Angel sighed, 'I didn't say that.'

'No, I did.' He looked up at his old grand sire. 'The lass thought I killed her family,' he said. 'And I'm supposed to what? _Complain_ 'cause hers wasn't one of the hundreds of families I did kill? I'm not saying you're right,' he said quickly, ''cause … uh … I'm physically incapable of saying that. But - for a demon - I never did much think about the nature of evil.' He hung his head and thought about his life back in its heyday, back in his prime. William the Bloody - up against the wall, nothing but fists and fangs. 'No. just threw myself in, thought it was a party. I liked the rush. I liked the crunch. Never did look back at the victims.'

'I couldn't take my eyes off them,' Angel admitted, quietly. He had his hands in his pockets and like Spike - his head was bowed as he thought back to the days when his brutal, primal nature was allowed to the fore. His eyes were soft and reflective as he admitted to himself, and Spike, the depth of the evil he had perpetrated. 'I was only in it for the evil. It was everything to me. It was art. The destruction of a human being.'

He thought of what he had done to Drusilla, to the sweet girl with the sight who foresaw her own demise. And once he had taken everything from her, when her mind was truly lost - that was when he had turned her. On the day she took her holy orders. Eternal torment. She had been Angelus' finest work. But to take a child - a true innocent - and create the violent, savage creature they had fought tonight - with no demon inside. A human soul that broken… he shook his head. 'I would have considered Dana a masterpiece.'

'What happens to her?' Spike asked.

'I don't know … um ... Andrew and the slayers took her. Didn't trust us to help her.'

'Andrew double crossed us?' he sounded surprised, 'that's a good move.' He thought about it more and chuckled. 'Maybe there's hope for the little ponce yet.' The smile slid from his face. 'Though the tingling in my forearms tells me she's too far gone to help. She's … one of us now. A monster.'

'She's an innocent victim,' Angel protested. Spike sighed and looked him in the eyes. 'So were we, once upon a time,' he said heavily.

Angel nodded - feeling that same weight. 'Once upon a time.'

* * *

When Angel finally made it back to his penthouse, he relieved the au pair who had been watching over Connor and sat down in his little bedroom, watching him sleep. What had happened to Dana - that was a parent's worst nightmare. Any parent, worthy of the title, would give up everything they had, their very lives, to protect their children from experiencing even one tenth of the harm she had suffered. They would do it gladly. He knew - deep in his bones, to the core of his being and to the very bottom of his unbeating heart that there was nothing he wouldn't do for Connor, to keep him safe. Nothing he wouldn't willingly sacrifice. Connor was the only part of Angel that mattered.

But doing anything to keep Connor safe, sacrifice, that was what brought him here in the first place. To Wolfram and Hart. Giving up your life for the one you loved was the easy part. Living eternally with no hope … that was the part that hurt. The place where regret and remorse intertwined with the knowledge that he had done the right thing and would do it again without hesitation; make the same mistake over and over because, in the moment, it hadn't been a mistake; that was the grey shade of twilight that he found himself banished to. And it was sapping everything from him. Sapping his will, sapping his soul - and sapping the trust that other people had always placed in him.

Just this evening, he had ruminated on the lack of trust he felt from his team. They didn't believe his word when he told them Lilah was plotting something. After all their years together, after all Lilah had done to them … once they were here, their compass needle had spun round so far that up was down and black was white … and Angel's word could not be trusted against Lilah Morgan's. It made him feel lonely inside his own team, lonelier than he had felt since… since he had pushed them away, back when Lilah was using Darla to drive him crazy. It weighed heavy on his heart.

But now there was added sorrow to pile onto his soul. Six months ago, Buffy had called all the slayers in all the world. She had called Cordelia. Cordelia the Vampire Slayer. And for six months she - and Doyle - had kept this secret, not told Angel. He was their family - and yet they had kept something this huge from him. And it came down to trust. They didn't want Wolfram and Hart knowing Cordy was one of the chosen, didn't want to be used by them. Didn't trust Angel not to use this knowledge to benefit his firm. He had been visiting them, in their little offices, for months now - late night trips when the going was too tough - and they had welcomed him, comforted him. But he realised now that they hadn't trusted him.

And then there was what Andrew had said. '_Nobody in our camp trusts you anymore. Nobody.' _

Well, Xander had never trusted him - there was no loss there. And Giles … things had never really been good between him and the watcher ever since Angelus had murdered his girlfriend. He had tolerated Angel's presence for Buffy's sake - but he had never forgiven him for Jenny. And nor should he. But Willow? Who had seen him at his worst and reensouled him twice, who had helped them out just last year? Who had tried to destroy the world herself one time? _Will_ didn't trust him?

Or Faith? Faith. Of all the souls he had ever saved - he had worked the longest and the hardest on hers. They were kindred spirits, who understood darkness and power - and having to work everyday to hold yourself back. She had broken out of prison to save him, walked through his mind to bring him back to himself. She had always said that - no matter what - she would never give up on Angel, because he had never given up on her… was that no longer true?

And worst of all. Hardest of all... He closed his eyes and flinched as he remembered the fleeting look of pity on Andrew's face. _Buffy_. Andrew had said she didn't trust him and - even after all these years apart - the thought of that still made him want to die.

He looked around - at the apartment - at the beautiful view just outside of the window, and at Connor, flushed and sleeping in his little bed. They needed to get out of here, he realised. They couldn't stay. If being here meant no one, from his closest friends to the one girl he had ever truly loved, couldn't trust him because of what he was a part of - then he needed to not be a part of it. He had to find a way out. It would be difficult. It would probably take some time. It would be dangerous - and he would have to do it in such a way that still protected Connor at all costs. But nevertheless - he was determined - him and Connor, one way or the other, were leaving Wolfram and Hart for good.

* * *

Doyle and Cordy arrived back at their office. Doyle wriggled out of his leather jacket and hung it on the coat stand, then shot a wondering glance across at Cordy. She had been very quiet on the way home. Extremely quiet. 'You OK?' he asked her, settling down on the green sofa. His crossword was still there from earlier - and he folded up the paper and put it to one side. 'You still thinkin' about Dana?'

'Huh? … oh … sort of…' She took her own jacket off, wandered over to the coffee maker and switched it on, before flipping the switch back off again and sighing. 'It's too late for coffee.' She drummed her fingers on the side and stared out of the window, biting her lip.

Doyle fixed her with his gaze, 'Cordelia, sweetheart - what's up? You've been quiet for hours. You're distracted … what are y' thinkin'?'

'It's…' she turned to look at him, twisting her hands together in front of her. 'I mean … it's nothing. You probably won't like it so … it's nothing.'

'Cordy,' he furrowed his brow and held his hand out to her, silently asking her to come and sit next to him. 'Talk to me.'

She took his hand and let herself be drawn onto the couch. Once she was sitting next to him, instead of talking, she leaned across and kissed him, very softly, on the lips. 'You know I love you more than anything, right?' she said, when she had pulled away.

He frowned even deeper, not sure where this was headed, but nodded.

'And getting married to you is really important to me, you know that?'

He nodded again.

'But…' she twisted her hands in her lap this time, and glanced downward. 'I mean - it's the marriage that's important right? Not the wedding. One is just a day, but the other is our entire life together. It doesn't matter if our wedding is - you know - just us at the courthouse?' She glanced at him, anxiously.

'You don't want a proper wedding?' he asked sounding surprised, 'where is this coming from? What happened to flowers and cake and the whole wedding industry?'

'It's not that I _don't_ want that,' she said. She took a deep breath. 'It's just … tonight … tonight changed a lot of things for me. It got me thinking.'

'What do you mean?'

She paused for a moment, wondering how to put it - everything that was going on in her head. 'I'm … well I guess I'm here, on my own - with you. The champion of Los Angeles. And I help the hopeless - and that's great … but tonight, I guess I realised I'm also part of something much bigger. My power, I share it with all these other girls - and there's no one but us in the world who know what it's like to have that power - that destiny. It's something we share and …' she shook her head. 'I guess I saw those girls today, with Andrew - with Dana - and … I dunno, I felt like I was lost. Or like - I was nearly found but they just missed me or… I'm not explaining this very well.'

Doyle was watching her carefully, his eyes were patient and showing the beginnings of understanding. 'You felt like you belonged with those girls - that you should have gone with them - instead of staying here.'

'I'll always belong with you - and nowhere else,' she said quickly, her eyes becoming frightened at the thought he might think she was telling him she wanted to leave. He smiled. 'I know,' he said, 'but belonging with me and being part of the slayer group doesn't have to be mutually exclusive.'

Her face relaxed into a relieved smile. 'Right - I just … I want to be a part of the slayer world. I wanna get to know other slayers. I want them to at least know I exist, you know? And I guess I want to find out more about what my destiny means - from experts.'

'Uhuh,' he nodded his head, and then thought back to the beginnings of this conversation. 'So - uh - where does all the talk about our wedding come into this?' he asked her.

She took another deep breath. 'It's … and if you disagree … I mean I'm being selfish - I know it …'

'_Cordy_.'

'I don't want to use the money we've saved for a wedding,' she said. 'Not when it's just one day - and we're so poor. I want to use it … I wanna … I wanna go to England, instead,' she admitted, her words tumbling out in a sudden rush. 'That's where the watcher's council has always been based. It's where the experts on - well - _me_ are. I wanna go there and I want to speak to Giles … and I want to speak to Buffy.'

* * *

**A/N That marks the halfway point of the season. I'm going to take a (hopefully) short hiatus in an attempt to get ahead of the story again. Thanks to everybody for reading this far - and especial thanks to everyone who takes the time to leave a comment. I'm so ready to be done with this series and it's only the knowledge of how unbelievably lame it would be for me to get this far and then give up now, this close to the end, that keeps me going. But all your kind words, encouragement and our interactions really do motivate me to keep writing so thank you - it is always much appreciated.**

**When we _do_ come back****, the next episode will be 'You're Welcome'.**


	46. You're Welcome: Part One

**A/N OK - First off, I hope everyone is keeping well and is not too anxious about ... world events. **

**Secondly - I'm not really ready to start posting yet, but when I finished posting the last episode a month ago I had no idea that 30 days later we would all be quarantined. And as people self isolating will need some kind of distraction ... here's the next episode to keep you busy.**

* * *

**You're Welcome**

_Part One_

Far above the world, on the higher planes, the eternal struggle - the ongoing battle between the forces of good and evil - still played out. The chess board was different now, the pieces moved around from where they had been. The Senior Partners had now made their move, bringing forth the old ones - the creatures the lower beings called The Scourge - and allowing them to run rampant across the gaming table that was the earth. They had more in the way of old ones up their sleeves - if they had sleeves - should it prove necessary. But, for now, it was the turn of the PTB to make their move - influence one of their own pawns to turn the tide of the game in their direction. This was a time to take pause, required delicate planning if they were to put their opponents in check. It took time, careful discussion, negotiation and disagreement and then an action was finally approved. The course was set. The die was cast. And - far below them, in a hotel room in England, the halfbreed was hit with a vision.

* * *

Doyle's whole body convulsed and shuddered, as the pain of the vision slammed into his neocortex whilst he slept. He saw flashing images of a black circle - jagged - made of … thorns, and demons chanting - though he only glimpsed their faces briefly - not long enough to recognise any of them. The throbbing agony was enough to jolt him back into wakefulness - and he sprang bolt upright in his hotel bed, gasping and sweating.

The pain and the images subsided - and he looked around him. The rosy fingers of dawn were just beginning to creep through under the blinds. The light was murky and grey - but just bright enough for him to start to make out the furniture through the gloom of the early morning. Cordelia slept beside him twisted up in the sheets, peaceful, untroubled - exhausted by the jet lag.

He lay back down, resting his head on the cheap, Travelodge pillow, and rubbed his face. There was no need to wake her. That vision had not been urgent, he felt that. And furthermore - though he couldn't quite explain it - he knew she was not the intended recipient. This vision - the information the PTB was trying to pass along - had been for Angel. He would need to ring him when he got the chance.

* * *

Halfway across the world, where it was still the previous day, the team were out on a case. They had been led to a dank basement apartment - and now Angel was hammering down the door. After a few kicks it began to buckle and then, with one last blow, the lock gave in and it flew open.

It was dark inside - red and white candles were scattered on a table, giving off the only light. The men shone their flashlights around as they entered, pulling up short when they noticed what else was in the room.

Fred, on the other hand, carried a scanner and was reading from it - barely paying attention to her surroundings. 'He's been here,' she said - though the men already knew that, having seen what she had not. 'I'm picking up loads of trace signatures.' She walked further into the room, still focusing her attention on her hand held scanner and all the information it was giving her.

'Fred - ' Wesley started to say, but she was too preoccupied to hear the note of warning in his voice. 'Hair follicles,' she read, 'and enzymes and something … blood.' For the first time, she looked disquieted - she was picking up a lot of blood. 'But it's not his - it's…' She finally looked up from the display on her scanner and looked round, seeing at once what it was the men had all been staring at: lying on the floor were several nuns - all with their throat cuts. 'Oh God.'

'I think God is out at the moment,' Wesley replied, his voice grim.

Gunn was staring down at the dead women, his face wrinkled with disgust mixed with a lack of understanding of what he was seeing. 'Why would Greenway do this? It was just a stupid racketeering charge. I told him we'd get him off with probation, so long as he shut down operations.' Beside him, Wesley swung his flashlight around, inspecting the scene carefully under the light of its beam.

Angel was staring at the bodies. He could hardly claim this was his first room full of dead nuns, but that only made it cut all the deeper. He understood what it was to kill holy women, the drive - the evil behind it. The joy of an act of sacrilege. To see the remains of that type of evil now he had a soul … that took a moment to get his head wrapped round. And worse - this evil was still on him, even if he hadn't done it. Greenway was a Wolfram and Hart client. Their client. And he was evil - what were the odds?

'What do we do now?' Fred asked, staring around the room - her eyes were wide and startled. There was no way of making this right, and she knew it. But Angel already had plans. 'Now? I find Greenway and I kill every inch of him.'

But Wesley had other ideas. He was examining the altar that had been set up and drawing his own conclusions. 'You won't find him. Five holy women. This wasn't random. This was ritual. He's jumped dimensions.'

'What?'

'Also not shockingly, our client practices black arts. He's escaped through a pan dimensional doorway. Disappeared into any one of an infinite universes.'

'Fred?' Angel turned to his resident scientist to find out what she could do about this. But she was frowning. 'My equipment's not calibrated to track anything out of this dimension. Even if such a thing were possible it would take months - maybe years to …'

'That's it!' he threw his arms up in the air in exasperated anger.

'But probably months - or even weeks if I really pushed…' she gabbled all the faster.

'I can't do this anymore,' Angel announced, backing towards the door. 'Do what?' Gunn asked him. He opened his mouth to answer - and then closed it again. He meant he couldn't do any of it anymore. Running Wolfram and Hart, representing their clients, balancing the scales and the never ending shades of interminable grey that haunted him no matter what direction he turned in. He couldn't be doing with aiding and abetting evil and evil doers whilst pretending to himself that he was playing some kind of long game, working the system, changing things from the inside out. Nobody believed that - it was ridiculous. They were doing evil. Maybe not themselves - not their hands, not their actions - but they were enabling it. The Senior Partners were too big, the evil was too great and no amount of playing by their own rules was ever going to change that. If it wasn't for Connor, he'd walk out this minute. Go back to the hotel - never set foot inside the law firm again.

But therein lay the rub. Connor. His life was forfeit if Angel broke the terms of his contract - and until he found a way around that he was trapped. No matter how hard it was. And so, no matter how done with the whole thing he was - there was nothing he could say to answer Gunn's simple question. He had to keep this to himself, until he had a plan, until he could see his way out, he couldn't tell anyone. Couldn't risk The Senior Partners getting wind of it.

So, instead of answering, he just shook his head - and stormed out of the basement, 'get a clean up crew in here,' he snapped over his shoulder at the others. 'Make sure these women get a proper burial.'

* * *

Doyle picked up the brown sauce and squirted it all over his plate, onto the sausages and bacon and mixing it into the beans. 'I miss this stuff,' he said, shoving a forkful of meat and beans into his mouth. He closed his eyes. 'And I really miss baked beans,' he mumbled through his mouthful.

Cordelia took a sip of her fresh orange juice and wrinkled her nose in disgust. 'What even is this? What even is that? What the hell is going on on your plate?'

He swallowed, wiped his mouth with a napkin and grabbed the server guy asking for a fresh pot of tea. ''S called a 'full English breakfast',' he told her, 'obviously they're Irish breakfasts where I come from - with soda bread on the side and white pudding but ... mmmm,' he broke off to take another loaded forkful. 'But this is close enough - this is the breakfast o' kings.'

'I think it's the breakfast of heart attacks,' she said pointedly, raising an eyebrow. 'And there's something wrong with your bacon.'

'Nuhuh,' he shook his head and speared a morsel of bacon on his fork. 'This is proper bacon - back bacon. What you guys have - the streaky stuff … disgustin'. Worst thing about livin' in the States. But this…' he took another mouthful and groaned. 'I don't think I wanna go back to California.'

'Really? You wanna stay here with the grey skies and the baked beans?'

'Sounds pretty sweet to me, yeah.' He picked up the stainless steel teapot and poured himself a cup, stirring and adding milk. He lifted the cup and took a sip, closing his eyes again. 'If Wesley could see me now…'

'What?'

'He'd rip off his own arm for this cuppa. This…' he took another sip. 'This is what home tastes like.'

'Really?' She stared around the little cafe they had come to for breakfast. The tables and chairs were plastic, the floors were sticky and the paintwork was decidedly past its best. A dying aspidistra drooped quietly in a corner, shedding leaves. 'I always kinda imagined Europe would be … more classy than this. This is … this place is kind of a dive.'

'It's a greasy spoon,' he told her, 'place like this - backbone of Britain.'

'Is that not pubs?'

'Well - not before midday. They're English not Irish.' He saw her face. 'It's a joke,' he said, 'and I'm allowed to say it. You're not though.'

She twisted her mouth up, 'don't worry - I've always put your drinking habit down as a Doyle problem not an Irish problem.'

He laughed, 'look - we can go somewhere fancier for dinner. And for breakfast tomorrow. This is London, yeah - the most vibrant city in the world. We can find anythin' we want here. But just for today - I wanted a little slice o' home - seein' as I'm so close and yet still so far. I don't complain - and Wes doesn't complain - but honestly? Livin' in the States can be hard. It's just nice to see somethin' that feels familiar - comfortin' - even if all it is is overcast weather and baked beans.'

Cordelia had furrowed her brow as she thought of something, his words making her consider a possibility that had never occurred to her before. 'So … do you not want to live in America - in L.A - forever?' she asked him. 'You think you might wanna go home one day?'

He chewed thoughtfully, put his fork down and wiped his mouth with the paper napkin again, before he answered her. 'I dunno,' he said. 'I mean, home is wherever you are, Princess. That's what matters. And there's a lot o' good stuff about L.A. I'm all giddy about the grey skies today but after a week o' this...?' He pulled a face. 'There's a lot to be said for eternal sunshine. I guess … I dunno … I mean, it might be an adventure if we lived overseas for a while - don't you think?'

'I guess … I never thought about it before. Where would you want us to go? Back to Ireland?'

'Maybe - or somewhere warmer. Spain - or France.'

Cordelia gasped in sudden delight. 'We could live in Paris!'

'Right - or you know - somewhere less expensive.'

She threw her screwed up paper napkin at him, 'cheapskate!' He threw it back at her, 'hey - you're the one that cares about money. I'm just tryin' to think responsibly.'

'_Doyle! _If we're running away to live a bohemian life in Paris, renting a little garret in some old building in Montmartre and living off croissants and coffee and taking in all that art and history - we don't need money. Money is like the _opposite_ of what that lifestyle is about.'

'Yeah? And what about when you decide it's time to take in all those designer boutiques along the Champs Elysees?'

She threw the napkin back at him. 'You're ruining my fantasy. Parisian me doesn't care about that stuff.'

'Parisian Cordelia doesn't care about fashion?' he asked sceptically.

'Parisian Cordelia is effortlessly chic - she looks good in any old thing. She cares about impressionist paintings and ancient cathedrals and … and' she struggled to think of a third French thing. ' And... accordion music.'

'So Parisian Cordelia has been taken over by the Pod People. And I'm just - what? Supposed to pretend not to notice that?'

'I have layers you know!' she exclaimed in faux outrage. 'You know, sometimes, Doyle, I think you don't appreciate what a deeply complex and even contradictory person I am.'

'I appreciate everythin' about you, darlin',' he smiled at her, warmly.

She reached out for the napkin - and then threw it back at him once again. 'Don't be sappy,' she chastised, though she was smiling just as warmly as he was.

* * *

Angel sat behind his desk, his hands clamped together so tight that his knuckles were turning white and his head bowed. Even though it was so late at night, the team were still in the office. They were talking, though the conversation was mostly going over his head - filling Lorne in on what had gone down. 'So he just … pfft … dimension jumped out of this reality?' the demon asked.

'It's a set back,' Wesley admitted, 'as well as a tragedy of course but …'

'Aint nothing we can do if we can't find him,' Gunn finished up. Lorne looked around the others. 'Can we do that? We've portal hopped before - though pray Arethra he hasn't gone to Pylea, can't we just bring him back?'

But Fred shook her head. 'It's not that simple,' she explained. 'He could have gone to any one of a number of universes and my tracking systems … they're just not that sophisticated. I'll get the lab working on it but… who knows how long pan dimensional plasma readings will take to develop?'

'And by the time Fred has worked out the tech … the portal will have gone cold,' Wesley said, 'meaning the trail…'

'Will be all the harder to follow,' Lorne said. 'Well, this is a pickle.'

'It's not a pickle,' Angel interrupted, all of a sudden. They all turned to look at him. He hadn't looked up, was still glaring down at his hands, and his voice was hard when he spoke. 'This is the status quo. This is what we do. Evil wins 'cause instead of just wiping it out we negotiate with it - or worse ... _for_ it. This guy gets away - and the wheel keeps on turning - and the next evil client steps up to the plate. And we just … make sure their needs are taken care of. Because that's what The Senior Partners want us to do.'

The team all looked glum. As pep talks went - that one had just sucked all the energy and hope out of them. 'Actually - Wonder Bread -' they all looked over at the door, Lilah was standing there - smirking. 'Right now, what The Senior Partners want you to do is work on getting Greenway back into this plane of existence - and then making sure he pays for what he did.'

'The Senior Partners want Greenway punished for the nun slaughter?' Wesley asked, sounding surprised. But she laughed and shook her head. 'No. Dead nuns they can deal with. But the firm's down ten million in bail costs. They want him back - and they want him to feel the wrath that messing with their bottom line brings down.'

'The money,' Angel said, finally looking up. 'Of course that's what they care about.'

'This is a business,' she reminded him, 'and one that's a bit more savvy than old Angel inc. Yes, the money is what matters. But hey!' she shrugged, 'you were just bellyaching about having lost him - about evil winning. Now you've got instructions to bring him back and make him suffer. Seems to me like, currently, your needs and the needs of The Senior Partners mesh. The motive doesn't matter. It's just all part of those shades of…'

'Don't say it!'

'...Grey, that you deal with here.'

Angel slumped down in his chair. 'You said it,' he muttered.

'Well,' she smiled again - ruthless and wolfish, 'it's getting late - and tomorrow you all have a busy day ahead of you tracking down a nun slaying racketeer across dimensions. I think maybe it's time we called it a night, don't you?' She turned and left and - one by one - the rest of the team followed her out, leaving Angel alone.

* * *

'I really wish you'd put that thing away,' Doyle muttered, as he and Cordelia walked down the main road, past King's Cross station. 'You look like a tourist.' Cordelia only rolled her eyes. '_Men! _We need this thing.' The offending item was a large street map of London, which Cordy had unfurled and was now using to navigate her way towards their destination. 'It shouldn't be too difficult to get to - but if we get lost … this place is like a maze, they built the city before America invented the grid system. I'm keeping the map.'

'Well just try to look like you're not with me, then.'

She immediately linked her arm though his. 'Suck it up, little Irishman.' They hurried across the road - following a large crowd of people, even though the little man on the crosswalk light was red. Cordelia squealed as a big, double-decker bus suddenly swung round the corner and ploughed straight towards them. 'This is what happens in a society that allows jaywalking!' she complained, as they regained the safety of the pavement. 'We need to look out for a right turning,' she told her boyfriend, scrutinising the map again. 'Look out for Judd Street.'

'Will do.'

It began to rain - splotches of water landed on Cordy's map. 'Oh dammit.' She frowned skyward, 'at least it's not too heavy.'

Doyle laughed and stuck out his hand to test the drizzle. 'Sorry, darlin' - this is fine rain - it'll soak you through. Is your coat waterproof?'

'I live in L.A - I don't _own_ a waterproof coat.'

'Then I suggest we pick up the pace, yeah?' He tugged her along the road, past the Wetherspoons and Pret a Mangers and the banks. They passed by the ornate St Pancras building on the other side of the road, and saw the British Library up ahead of them. But then it was time to turn right into Judd Street - and the noise of the main road became muffled.

It had taken Doyle a fair amount of internet research to fathom out where it was they were headed exactly; having to look up property deeds and registrations at Companies House and the British electoral roll, none of which was too easy from L.A. But eventually he had got an address - and Cordelia had pulled out a map and perused it until she should have known the route to get to it off by heart. Yet here she still was - carrying it around with her - opened up … like a tourist.

They walked down Judd Street. Even though she was a woman on a mission, Cordy couldn't help but take her eyes from the map in order to look at the buildings. Not all the buildings were impressive - there were plenty of cafes and pubs on one side. But on her side of the road there were houses. Beautiful Regency townhouses like something out of a Jane Austen novel. She'd never seen anything like them in real life before.

Doyle was looking far less interested. There was no shortage of Regency architecture in Dublin. 'Do people really live in those?' she asked him, staring up at the wide window panes and the little Juliet balconies and down at the boot scrapers attached to the steps. He shrugged. 'I'm not sayin' there's not the occasional millionaire livin' in one of them but … mostly they'll be broken up into offices now, darlin' - look.' He pointed to one which declared itself to be the Royal National Institute for Blind People.

'A _Royal _national institution! That's so fancy! - but people did used to live in them?'

'Yeah - two or three hundred years ago.'

Cordy gave a little squeal, and looked up and down the road. 'And the horses and carriages would have driven along here?'

'Yep.'

'And taken the people who lived here to balls in their fantabulous gowns? Like when the Dashwood girls go to London in Sense and Sensibility?'

'Uh … yeah. I guess.'

She squealed again. '_This_ is what I thought Europe would be like,' she announced, and skipped a few steps down the road. Doyle chuckled, 'well - I'm glad my continent isn't lettin' y' down.'

'So - if we get all this wrapped up quickly can we go and see some other old stuff? Like Buckingham Palace? And Westminster Abbey? That's where Charles and Lady Di got married - I'm named after her - my middle name.'

'Huh - I didn't know that. We can go if you want. You know, Londoner Cordelia is actually a lot like Parisian Cordelia.'

She laughed - and then scrunched her face up as she thought of something. 'Wait - won't that be boring for you? - have you seen this stuff like a hundred times before?'

He shook his head. 'This is my first time in England. I'm up for a trip to see Big Ben.'

'If this is your first time in England why aren't you more excited? This is … amazing.' She stopped walking to read a blue plaque she found on the side of a building: Alexander Herzen 1812-1870 operated the free Russian press from this building 1854-1856. 'I have no idea who that is - and it's still amazing!' she said, smiling her widest and brightest smile of delight.

'Yeah - it is … it's just a lot more exotic for you than it is for me. But I'm happy you're happy. And I'm happy too.'

She eyed him suspiciously, 'even though this is what we're having instead of a proper wedding?' she asked.

'I think bein' with you in London is just as special as a weddin',' he told her. 'I've never been to London before - I've already been married.' She smacked him on the arm with the back of her hand. 'Ow! Well - it's true!'

They carried on walking and then took another right onto Tavistock Place, following this road all the way to the end until they came out at Tavistock square. 'OK - the building should be one of these,' Cordelia said, raising her hand to shield her eyes from the combination of rain droplets and weak, winter sunshine that was making it difficult for her to see.

Tavistock square was a small grassy park, surrounded by iron railings. There was a path that ran through it and some trees, which were all bare as it was early February. At the other side of the park were more of the same large, Georgian era houses. Unable to get into the park because of the railings, they walked round the edge of it and then began to examine the house numbers and business plaques.

'I mean what will it even say?' Doyle asked, 'it's not like they can really advertise what they are.'

'I guess maybe you just need to know what you're looking for.'

'And if we don't?'

'We do.' She pointed to the brass plaque attached to one of the buildings. It bore one letter in the middle of it - a capital B. The curved lines were curling and gothic looking but the straight line - if you looked closely - was drawn as a stake. Underneath the B it said 'London Headquarters'.

'I guess this is it,' Doyle said, squinting at what she showed him. They glanced at each other, nervously, and then stepped towards the front door. It was locked - but there was a buzzer, with a speaker. Cordelia pressed it.

'Identify yourself,' a not too friendly, young, female voice answered the intercom. Cordy and Doyle exchanged another nervous glance. 'I'm Cordelia Chase,' she said into the speaker.

There was a brief pause and then the voice came back. 'No Cordelia Chase on the list.' and the line went dead.

Cordy pressed the button again. 'I don't care about your list,' she said, before the other voice had even spoken. 'I need you to tell Rupert Giles that Cordelia Chase is here to see him.'

* * *

It was so late at night now that it was headed towards morning. The team had long gone, but Angel still hadn't moved from behind his desk. Shades of Grey. It was always shades of grey. So The Senior Partners wanted him to bring this guy - Greenway - back to earth. Lilah was right - that was what he had wanted to do as well. He wanted to find this guy and hurt him. The Senior Partners wanted him to find this guy and hurt him … and that gave him pause.

The game - whatever game it was they were playing, he was playing - it was too long, too hard. He still hadn't worked out the rules, so couldn't know if he was playing it by theirs or his own. But as long as he stayed here there could be no winning, of that much he was sure.

And - as long as he was here, then he was no champion. A champion wouldn't sit at his desk and sign his cheques and wonder what rules to play by, or what action to take. A champion would have punched a hole through the dimensional walls and jumped through there - worrying about how to find Greenway and how to get home later. Sure it might not be the smart way to do it, he could try and comfort himself that the old way was the dumb way … but it was also the heroic way. The right way. And he missed knowing what was right - having that clarity.

It was this confusion, this lack of direction that he hated. Angelus had always had the pure clarity of evil, single minded and ruthless. And Angel - the old Angel - had always done what was right no matter what. Lived in the world as it should be to show it what he might be. But here, here he sat still and wrestled with his conscience and second guessed his actions and just couldn't escape those damn shades of grey.

He needed to get out.

* * *

After a few minutes waiting, the buzzer suddenly sounded and the front door clicked. With another glance at each other, Doyle and Cordy pushed it open and went inside. They were met at the reception by a bored looking young woman of about 17, who, when she spoke, revealed herself to be the owner of the disembodied voice over the intercom. 'Mr. Giles asked me to show you straight up to him,' she said. She raised an eyebrow at Doyle. 'Who's he?'

'He's with me - take us to Giles.'

With a shrug, and a snap of her chewing gum, the girl led the way up some very steep. very narrow, carpeted steps. 'Be careful,' Doyle warned his girlfriend - as their guide didn't seem to think to, 'hundred year old stairs like these can be quite uneven.'

He wasn't wrong, and the carpet did more to hide the bumps than smooth them out. They tripped their way to the top and came out on a landing. The ceilings were high but the hallway itself was barely wider than the stairs had been. They were led to the end of the corridor, to a set of double doors. The girl knocked - and then opened the door and ushered them inside.

They found themselves in what would once have been the drawing room of a fine Georgian residence, but was now being used as a study. Shelf after shelf of leather bound books lined the walls. 'Yep - this is definitely Giles' place,' Cordelia murmured, taking them all in.

There was a sudden movement at the far end of the room, a man stood up from behind his desk - blocking out the murky light that trickled through the window behind him. 'Good lord - Cordelia, it is really you.' Giles took off his glasses and polished them before placing them back on his nose and looking at her more carefully. 'You cut your hair.'

'Oh…' her hand flew self consciously to her short curls and she grinned. 'Yeah - many _many_ times since last we met. Some times with more disastrous consequences than others.'

'You always looked beautiful,' Doyle told her reprovingly. Cordelia glanced at him - and then remembered that Giles had no idea who he was. 'Oh - this is Doyle, Francis Doyle - my fiance.' The two men shook hands, Giles raking a surprised eye over Doyle as if - had he ever taken the time to imagine what Cordelia's husband to be would look like - he would certainly never have guessed this.

'Delighted to meet you - please, please,' he gestured at the chairs the other side of his desk, 'sit down … now what is it that brings you two here?' he asked once they were all settled.

'Well - I guess it's kind of a long story,' Cordy twisted her hands together, nervously, in her lap as she spoke. 'I guess you know all about that time, last summer, when Buffy called all the slayers at once?'

'Well, I was there,' he nodded.

'Right - of course - well the thing is … the thing is... The spell, I guess Willow did it? When it called all those slayers at once - gave all the girls the power well … well … it kinda affected me as well. I was chosen, I mean, called.' She took a deep breath. 'I'm a vampire slayer.'

Giles stared at her. He took off his glasses and polished them and put them back on again and stared at her some more. 'Good Lord.'

* * *

Despite the lateness of the hour - the fact that it was now the early hours of the morning - Spike was still awake, and staring into the dark. 'You just made the biggest mistake of your life,' he said, 'and I'm gonna make you pay. Oh yeah, feel my wrath, gorilla throwing barrels.' He pressed the buttons on his controller, biting down on the inside of his lip as his little plumber hurled things at his arch nemesis. But the gorilla threw another barrel - he was hit - and the video game played the little tune that signified he was dead. 'Oh bloody hell.' He threw the controller down in frustration.

He should just go to bed - that would teach the damn thing - he just wouldn't play it anymore. It could sit on the side gathering dust. A relic, obsolete… he picked the controller back up and pressed for a new game. 'You really should knock on a bloke's door,' he said, without taking his eyes off the screen. 'Especially one that's got no qualms about killing trespassers.'

_Doyle_ was standing there. He smiled and came inside, sitting down on the couch beside Spike. 'Now is that anyway to speak to your benefactor?' he asked. 'I'm just a little concerned about you - you haven't been out in the field lately.'

'In case you haven't been keeping up with the sport's pages, I got my bloody hands hacked off by that deranged slayer _you _sent me after.' He pointed at the other man to make his point.

_Doyle _grimaced. 'Yeah I'm sorry about that. But, hey, our good old buddies over at Wolfram and Hart managed to reattach them just fine, huh? You can sit around here and play video games...'

'Rehab, mate. Working out the digits.' He held up his hand and waggled his fingers in the other man's face, then got off the sofa and headed for the fridge, taking out a beer. 'You got no idea how rotten this feels.'

'I guess I don't. You know, I saw someone get their hand cut off once. A woman. Your old pal Angel sliced it clean off - she screamed and she screamed … but you know, it was in the line of duty. She had it coming. Angel was saving the day. He was the hero back then … which brings me back to you. Don't forget you got a job to do. The Powers That Be are counting on their champion. So are all the other helpless people that ...'

'Don't need a pep talk, Doyle,' Spike sat back down on the couch beside him, and swigged his beer. 'I already plan on going out. You just get one of your visions and tell me when and where.'

_Doyle_ smirked. 'Well it's funny you should say that,' he said. 'Had one earlier - difficult job. Dangerous.'

'Yeah?' Spike quirked an eyebrow.

'Yeah - man called Alonzo Greenway - bad guy, racketeer, murderer; the kind of guy they love so much over at Wolfram and Hart.'

'What about him?'

'Slaughtered a bunch of nuns earlier tonight - jumped a portal to another dimension. Who knows what manner of stuff, shades of evil he'll pull off in his new world? The Powers That Be are really looking for a champion to hop on through the portal themselves and bring him back so he can face some swift, brutal, American justice.'

'And how exactly the bloody hell is a bloke supposed to jump through a portal and find this Greenway fella?' Spike asked him.

_Doyle_ smiled wryly. 'Like I said, it'll be dangerous. You game?'


	47. You're Welcome: Part Two

_Part Two_

Giles had stepped out of the office, leaving Cordelia and Doyle sitting in there alone - waiting rather uncomfortably. Doyle craned his neck around to take in their surroundings in more detail. 'They got a lot o' books, here' he said, 'way more than us.'

Cordelia twisted to look as well. 'Well, yeah - if you think Wesley is bookman then you need to understand that Giles is like Wesley the Original Generation. The school library back in Sunnydale was packed full of books like these … the actual school books were squashed into the corner of the very back of the stacks.' She wrinkled her nose. 'I'm kinda surprised more people didn't work out what was going on, now I think about it.'

'Still - must come in useful, looking up demons and … prophecies and what not.'

'Prophecies,' she repeated quietly, and frowned. 'Hey! Do you think maybe Giles might have some stuff on you? You know - _Promised One _stuff?'

Doyle shrugged. 'Maybe.'

'Well - it couldn't hurt to ask. And it would be safer than asking the guys to check the archives at Wolfram and Hart, that's for sure.'

'Yeah…' he shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, 'you think Giles'll be back...' he didn't even get to finish his sentence, as the door opened and Giles reappeared. He smiled at the young couple from the doorway. 'I've just got off the phone with Buffy,' he told them. 'She's currently living in Italy, Rome to be exact. But it's only a 3 hour flight. Once Dawn is done with school today, they'll be able to get a plane to London. She can be here by tomorrow. In the meantime - why don't I show you around the headquarters, so you can get an idea of what it is we do here.'

...

The tour started off on the same floor as Giles' office - he led them into an even larger room filled, once more, with books from floor to ceiling. There was a large reading table in the middle of the room and a few women - of all ages- were sat around it, piles of books at their elbows and even more spread open in front of them. Giles began to talk - but Cordelia felt her eyes being drawn to the other women in the room - wondering about them.

'We were lucky enough to be able to acquire three buildings adjoined to each other,' Giles was telling them, 'and in some parts we've knocked right through to open up the space - particularly useful higher up, as you'll see … though obtaining the planning permission took quite a look of mind control from Willow, we have to rather hope that no officious council worker ever looks into the paperwork too closely.'

'Must be handy - havin' an all powerful witch on the team,' Doyle said - as Cordy didn't seem to be really listening.

Giles nodded, 'she has her uses.'

'Tell us about it - we'd still have Angelus locked in a cage in the basement if it wasn't for her!'

Cordelia was still gazing around the room. 'How come you have all these books?' she asked, 'there were so many just in your office - but now there's more …'

'Yes - those in my office are my private collection,' Giles told her, 'the more potent and dangerous of the books - the ones I used to keep locked in my office at Sunnydale. Some of these … ' he gestured to the ones in the library, 'are from my own personal library. A few are from the old council - though much of their collection was destroyed along with the building. However, happily, I had managed to … _acquire_ a few before that happened.'

Cordelia glanced at him, 'You stole them, didn't you?'

'Yes.'

'Good.'

'Right,' he coughed, 'well - we have also been fortunate enough to be donated the personal collections of many of the retired watchers, those who were not in the building at the time of the blast - and of course the personal collections of those that did die … we took them from their homes. Quentin Travers had a collection almost as large as the official one at the council.'

'Did Wesley's dad donate anythin'?' Doyle asked.

Giles shook his head. 'The Wyndham Pryce collection remains with Roger.'

'Sounds about right.'

The watcher chuckled. 'Well, thanks to the generosity of my former colleagues we have been able to create a not informidable library, where the adult slayers can spend time studying demons and lore. This was, of course, always traditionally part of a slayer's required training however - on meeting Buffy, I quickly realised that such a thing would have little benefit in her case.'

''Cause she's such an amazin' slayer?'

'Because Buffy wouldn't study if her life depended on it,' Cordelia corrected her boyfriend.

Giles laughed again. 'She did develop a focus and maturity that surpassed quite anything I'd ever seen before. And her prowess as a slayer is unprecedented - such was obvious from very early on. It is only fair to point that out. But - yes - meeting the 16 year old Buffy was something of a rude awakening for me.'

The three of them all laughed together, drawing an irritated glance from one of the women studying. 'Well,' the watcher coughed again and lowered his voice, 'perhaps we should be moving along.'

He took them back out to the landing and then up another set of narrow stairs. 'This floor makes up our schoolrooms.' He came to a stop outside a door - and nodded his head at the window pane. Doyle and Cordy peered in - inside the room was a group of girls aged about 8 or 9, their heads bowed low over their desks as they worked away. 'These little girls are all slayers?' Cordelia asked, not able to keep the note of surprise out of her voice.

Giles nodded. 'Willow's spell called all potential slayers, giving them their power in one go. A girl is born as a potential - and though she may never be chosen, she never loses that potential. The side effect of this, well…' he took off his glasses and rubbed them clean, 'I believe you are familiar with the slayer who was institutionalised after suffering severe trauma in her youth?'

They both nodded.

'The slayer is normally chosen from a set of potentials in their teenage years - usually between the ages of 15 and 18, though there have been exceptions. Willow's spell meant that all slayers - from newborn to 80, and above, were called and, as with the case of Dana, some special provisions have had to be made for those that fall far outside the normal slayer range.'

'So - all those little girls have super strength?' Doyle asked.

'Them - and more besides, we have girls here from as young as 5. They're not quite as strong as they will be but - at their age they are not in control of their power. They can't hide it or contain it reliably. It would be too dangerous to allow them to attend normal school - and not fair on them, or their peers. We bring what young slayers we find here - give them a normal education, in a safe environment, alongside teaching them to control and use their power.'

Cordelia scrunched her face up, 'and their parents are OK with just sending their daughters off to slayer Hogwarts?'

Giles looked troubled. 'Some parents have taken it in their stride, yes. Some have moved to London to live close by and allow their daughter to train and still have a normal home life. Others have sent them here and take them back for holidays, those girls board. We hope, in time, to be able to create more headquarters across the world. As more and more slayers grow up we will be able to staff organisations, like this one, in various locations, and hopefully our younger slayers will not have to travel so far from home in order to begin their training.'

'Huh - you know it's so weird. All these parents just sending their little girls half way around the globe on the say so of you or - or _Xander_ \- turning up at their house and telling them to. I don't get how they're so cool with it all. Remember how freaked out Mrs. Summers was when she found out about Buffy?'

The troubled look on Giles' face intensified, and he took his glasses off to clean them again. 'I believe some of the parents were rather pleased to send their daughters away. The sudden explosion of their strength … well, they didn't know how to cope. It came as something of a relief to them to be given an explanation and a solution - if not a cure - but some parents have not been to visit, or sent for their daughters to come home, since they got here.'

'You mean some girls have been abandoned here?' Doyle asked.

The watcher nodded, gravely. 'I fear so, yes. And - as more and more slayers are born - I fear the number of abandoned girls will only grow higher with time.'

'I guess Willow didn't really think that one through when she cast the spell, huh?' Cordelia said.

'We did what needed to be done, at the time, to save the world.'

'But these girls have to pay the price of that,' Doyle said.

Giles looked sad. 'Being the slayer has always meant sacrifice, paying a price that no one else would be asked to pay. But what we are doing here - what Buffy is hoping to achieve - is a slayer community where no girl will ever have to feel the weight of the world on her shoulders, the way she did. These girls will learn together, train together, be each other's family … and once they have finished training they will have a choice - a choice never given to Buffy or any slayer before her - they can stay in the community and help save the world as part of a team, or they can leave and enter the normal world - with an education behind them and in full control of their power. From now on, any slayer that chooses can lead a normal life and that is something that Buffy is very keen to encourage.' There was a moment's silence, as Doyle and Cordelia thought about all this. '...Well, why don't I take you on up to the next level and show you our training rooms?'

* * *

Back in L.A, the sky was turning from black to grey, as dawn began to bleed its way through the night skies. Angel still hadn't slept, though he was up in his penthouse now - sitting in Connor's room as the little boy slept, peacefully. For once, he wasn't watching his son sleep though. Tonight he held onto a photograph and was staring intently at that.

It was from the early days - the really early days. Wesley had taken it, he was brand new to the group at the time - maybe he hadn't even been on the payroll yet. The photo showed himself, Doyle and - squashed between the two of them and looking so impossibly young - Cordelia.

They were all smiling - even him, though his smile was awkward. He had only left Sunnydale 6 months before, had lived a day as a human man - with Buffy - and given it all up not a full month before this photo was taken. He wasn't used to being happy at this point. He hadn't grown comfortable around his friends, he hadn't built himself a life and a business and a family. He didn't have Connor. He was still just a brooding block of wood trying to fake human emotions, back when this picture was taken.

But he had been on his own path. The path to redemption. And he had purpose, his life had meaning. He was the champion of the PTB, with his own messenger making sure he did their bidding. Now the only higher powers in his corner were The Senior Partners. Somewhere along the way - between this photo being taken and tonight - he had badly lost his way, let down everybody - most of all himself - and was now trapped in a web of his own bad decisions and failures. No wonder the Powers had decided to make Spike their champion instead.

He was lost. He didn't know who he was anymore and there was no one around here to remind him. He didn't know how to get back on track - get back to being the person he wanted to be. The champion. This place … it had got inside of him, got under his skin. He wanted out. God - how he wanted out. But, when he looked at the photo of his younger self, he realised that he no longer knew what it was he would be escaping to; who he would be when all this was done.

He was no longer the champion. And The Powers were done with him. If he ever found his way out of Wolfram and Hart, he would be headed on out into a world that no longer had a place for him. He would no longer have a purpose - and his chance for redemption may have slipped beyond his grasp for good.

He was faced with nothing but the promise of the interminable grind here at the law firm, the impossibility of his much needed escape and a terrifying blankness as he contemplated a future outside of Wolfram and Hart. The feelings of despondency, of hopelessness and depression, weighed down on his shoulders and on his heart - crushing him. He was blank and numb and empty - and the younger Angel stared up at him from the picture, awkward and uncomfortable, but burning with that sense of rightness, that clarity of purpose he had once had. What a disappointment he had turned out to be.

There was barely an hour left before his alarm went off, when he finally dragged himself from his chair and crawled under the covers. When it did go off, he reached out a hand and switched it off and pulled the covers high over his head, blocking out the sunshine which now streamed through the necro tempered glass.

It was mid morning before he finally emerged - and even then, he only sat in his office, quiet and brooding - almost catatonic - and let the workings of the law firm just flow around him. He couldn't care enough to make himself take part, so he just let the day happen without speaking to anyone or doing anything.

* * *

After their tour of the new watcher's council, Cordelia and Doyle had gone for a walk around London. It was cold, and already getting dark, and they held hands and hurried along the pavements towards the centre of town. After staring up at Nelson's Column, and Doyle tutting disapprovingly at the teenage tourists clambering all over the bronze lions ('What would Wesley say?'), they scurried across the busy road and headed down Whitehall.

They stopped to get their pictures taken at Horseguards, Cordelia stood next to the soldier and his horse at their sentry post and beamed for the camera. 'This horse reminds me of my Palomino, Keanu,' she said, rubbing its nose. She looked up at the soldier, 'what's his name?' she asked. The soldier ignored her and stared straight ahead.

'They're not allowed to talk or move,' Doyle told her, 'the soldiers, I mean - though the horses aren't supposed to move either.'

'Huh - that sounds like the crappiest job in the world.' They began to walk away.

'I dunno, if I was gonna be in the army, I think I'd prefer sittin' on a horse duty to being sent to an active warzone, yeah?'

Cordelia snorted with laughter. 'They're not real soldiers, Doyle! They're not really in the army.'

It was Doyle's turn to laugh. 'Yes they are! I think they're just one o' the snooty regiments that exist to protect the Queen.'

'No! Really?' she twisted back to look at the motionless soldier on horseback, wearing his plumed helmet and red jacket, 'he's a real soldier? In that get up?'

'Yep - welcome to England.'

'That's insane!'

They worked further down the road and stopped to take a picture of Cordelia standing at the door to the Cabinet Office. A few steps further, and they joined the crowd milling around at the end of Downing Street. Cordy went on tiptoes to peer down the short road at the Prime Minister's house. 'I can't believe how low key everything is here,' she giggled. 'There's just a house down the road and the boss of England lives in it - and then his office is just there,' she pointed back to the Cabinet Office, 'and anyone can get their picture taken outside of it. I mean - what if the door opened and Tony Blair just walked out as you took my picture?'

'Then it would be one helluva picture.' Doyle eyed the policemen standing beside the railings, which blocked Downing Street from the main road. They both clutched huge machine guns. 'Do you really think 'low key'? … 'Cause that's not the word springin' to my mind.'

But Cordelia blew a raspberry. 'They're just standing there,' she said, 'letting us all snoop away - we could be anybody! School took us to D.C in our freshman year for an air quote "educational" trip … you cannot get this close to the Whitehouse from the street, and with so little security.'

'Well - I guess this is one o' the benefits of a gun free society…' he eyed up the machine guns again, 'almost gun free society,' he corrected. They began to walk on again, hand in hand once more. 'So, is Ireland gun free too?' she asked him, 'or is it more like the U.S?'

'No - it's gun free - at least the south is. The north is … more complicated.'

'Oh - the troubles, right?'

'Right.'

'But that's not where you're from?'

'No, Princess, Dublin is safe. Well… I mean technically I'm from Finglas and 'safe' might be pushin' it. But we're not at war, if that's what you mean.'

Cordelia laughed, 'well, it must have been a heck of a lot safer than growing up in Sunnydale anyway.'

'That's true. Different kind o' danger, though. Less vampires, more knife crime. I'm glad to say I managed to graduate high school without once being taken hostage - which I believe is an accolade you can't claim for yourself.'

'No - the kidnappings were pretty much a weekly occurrence once Buffy arrived in town.'

'Makes you wonder what will happen here when she gets here tomorrow.'

'I've said it before and I'll say it again, where she goes dark forces follow.'

...

They passed by the cenotaph, the poppy wreaths from November still laid around its base, and then arrived in Parliament Square. The Houses of Parliament, Big Ben and Westminster Abbey were all illuminated in the gloom of the evening. 'I wish I had a guide book,' Cordelia said, 'I wanna know how old everything is.'

'We can buy one tomorrow - just don't get it out in public.'

She dug him in the ribs with her elbow and then dragged him down to the river. Standing on the Embankment, she dropped his hand and clamped her own about her ears. 'It's freezing!' She gasped. The cold wind coming from the Thames blew her curls around her face and chapped her lips. 'This is… how can people live like this?'

'They wrap up warm - come on, let's go over there.' He pointed to the bright lights of the South Bank. The Millennium Wheel had come to a stop, as darkness had fallen, but it was still lit up - a giant circle of lights standing out against the night sky. They hurried across Westminster Bridge, stopping to take another photo with the giant ferris wheel in the background, and then went down the stairs onto the river bank.

It was busy, on the South Bank, bustling and exciting. There were street performers and living statues with crowds of people watching them, and music - performed live and coming out of boom boxes, so the tune changed every couple of steps. The two of them stopped off at a van and bought fish and chips and walked down the road eating them straight out of the newspaper. 'OK this - this is pure stereotype right here,' Cordelia said, biting into a vinegar soaked chip and feeling the sting it left behind on her lips. 'I can't believe I'm actually eating Fish and Chips in London. I can't believe they really sell them. I can't believe they're real.'

'They're pretty good,' Doyle said, through a mouthful, 'not great - but OK. I've had better but ... I mean .. for somethin' made in a van, not bad at all.'

Once they'd finished and thrown the empty newspapers into the nearest bin, Doyle dragged Cordy into a bar. It was a temporary, pop up bar - the bar itself under canvas and then picnic tables for seating under the open air. A couple of patio heaters stopped the patrons from freezing to death.

Cordelia sat down as close to a heater as she could get, and Doyle went to the bar - coming back with two pints in plastic glasses. 'You got me a beer?' she asked disbelievingly.

'It's all they're sellin'.'

She sniffed at it, 'what is it? Coors?'

'No way! _This_ is a local craft beer. Brewed just round the corner, the guy said. It's one for the connoisseurs.'

'There are connoisseurs of _beer_?'

'O' course! What do y' think I am?'

'A drunk.'

He pulled a face at her. They snuggled up on the bench, as close to the patio heater as they could get - feeling it's warmth wash over their left hand side, though their right was still numb with the cold. Even once they had finished their drinks, they sat for a while, enjoying watching the world go by - and listening to the live music that floated on the air from further down the bank. Then - once the left side of their faces were burning and flushed red, their right side frozen and tingling, they got up and headed down the riverside.

They crossed back over when they reached Waterloo Bridge, headed towards the grand Savoy Hotel, and once they were back on firm land headed up the Strand and then towards Holborn, making their way back to King's Cross station and their hotel. 'This has been so amazing,' Cordelia said, skipping a couple of steps and squeezing Doyle's hand.

'Yeah? You had a good day?'

She nodded, and he squeezed her hand back. 'Well, we can have another one just like it tomorrow.'

* * *

Wesley had stopped by his office to speak with him about the possibility of narrowing down which dimension Greenway might have jumped to based on the ritual he had performed. Angel had barely listened … something about the deaths of holy women and the positioning of the candles. He just grunted and nodded. He didn't care.

Lorne and Gunn dropped in. Gunn was going to bring in some of Greenway's flunkies - get them to sing for Lorne. Maybe the anagogic demon would be able to pick up something in their auras about where their boss might have gone too. Angel couldn't even bring himself to raise his head to look at them and acknowledge what they were saying. He grunted again and stared at the wall, until the sound of footsteps told him they had left him alone, once more.

The phone rang. He ignored it. Ten minutes later it rang again. He couldn't even be bothered to lift his hand to pick it up. It rang again - shrill and irritating. He hoped if he just ignored it it would just go away.

About ten minutes later there was a tap on the door, he didn't look over - and only knew who it was from the scent of Chanel. 'I just got off the phone with Fred,' Harmony told him, 'she's been calling you like crazy. She says her and Knox are looking at the equipment and she's reasonably confident that she can upgrade it in a matter of weeks. You should have that Greenway sleaze back before you know it.'

He didn't answer.

'_Hello!_ That's, like, good news right?'

He grunted again. 'Uh - right. Thanks, Harmony.' He heard her sigh, and the clip clop of her heels walk away, and then he sank further down in his chair and continued to stare at the wall.

* * *

The next morning, Cordy and Doyle got up very early; Cordelia allowed her boyfriend to stop off at the greasy spoon for another artery hardening fry up that tasted of home and then they hurried on over to the slayer headquarters. Giles was waiting for them, when they got there, and ushered them back into his study. 'Buffy arrived late last night,' he informed them, 'she'll be down shortly.'

'Good, that's great,' She didn't know why, but Cordelia suddenly felt very nervous about seeing her old ... friend, she'd go with that word for now. Now they were both slayers it forced a dynamic shift … and it was probably best to never mention that she had once dated Angel. She sat down in the chair facing Giles' desk, 'listen - whilst we're waiting for Buffy, Doyle and I have been thinking - well wondering … it's hard to explain. See, we have these demons that we're trying to fight back home - ancient demons from the dawn of time - old ones - and we're really struggling to find anything out about them.'

'I've looked through some prophecy books belongin' to different demon cultures,' Doyle added, taking a seat beside his girlfriend, 'and they're great for tellin' me when a slaughter might be goin' to happen, but they don't give much way in the of info of how to find The Scourge - or how to stop 'em.'

'But you have all these books,' Cordy picked up again, her voice sounding hopeful. 'Way more than us - and you have fancy watcher training and knowledge - we thought maybe you might be able to find something that would give us a little more to go on than the zero we currently have.'

Giles looked thoughtful, 'Well of course, I've heard of the old ones,' he said, frowning, 'their existence is an integral part to the beginnings of our world and the whole slayer mythology. The last old one was thrown from this world by the first slayer.'

'But not before it fed off a human and created vampires,' Cordelia said, 'we heard.'

'Right - but according to the legend, all the old ones were either cast from this dimension or killed, their bodies are guarded at the Deeper Well… If there are old ones running around Los Angeles …'

'These ones were cast out too,' Doyle said, 'as far as God like monsters go, these guys are small fry. It's just when you come up against 'em and you're just an ordinary demon that things tend to go south. They got their very own hell dimension, but they found their way back to our plane o' existence and now they want it back.'

'Fascinating.' He looked like he meant it as well - but then that was Giles, he loved a cup of hot bovril and a research party. Cordelia remembered only too well how excited he had been by the prospect of spending an afternoon researching werewolves back when Oz was turned. Some things never changed. Giles was still tragically old and tragically in need of a life. Just like Wes. 'Well, I'll certainly look into it for you,' he was saying '… this should prove to be quite a treat. Demons of ancient lineage, alternate dimensions - I'll be in for a good afternoon with my …' he stopped talking when the door opened, 'ah - Buffy.'

Cordy and Doyle twisted in their seats to look. Buffy was standing in the doorway. They hadn't seen her in years - not since that time Faith had gone crazy and tried to kill Angel. In some ways she looked exactly the same: same long, blonde hair; same _terrible _taste in clothing, Cordelia noticed; she hadn't got any scars, or visibly aged - on the surface she was the same old Buffy.

And yet, there was... _something_ about her that was different. Something Cordy couldn't quite define, it was like trying to grasp at moonbeams trying to work it out. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, or the set of her jaw, or just the way she held herself - but somehow, this woman was different to the heartbroken girl who had turned up unexpectedly, in what was now their apartment, and found a half naked Angel holding Faith and comforting her.

There was another young woman stood right behind her, and at first glance Cordelia assumed it was just another slayer - and then as she got a better look her jaw dropped open. 'Oh my god - _Dawn_?' she asked. 'You're all - you're a grown up. When did this happen?'

'It's kinda been an ongoing thing,' Dawn said.

'You're taller than Buffy now.'

'Yeah - she hates that.'

Buffy folded her arms across her chest and looked irritated, 'so,' she interrupted, 'Cordelia and … Doyle, right?' she squinted at the Irishman, her eyes narrowed as if she was thinking hard to pull his name out of the corner of her brain it was tucked away in. 'You guys wanted to see me?'

* * *

It was well past midnight, but the team were still at work - and for some reason they were all in Angel's office. He didn't want them there - he wanted to tell them to leave, but he also had a suspicion that the reason they were suddenly hanging out with him was because they had noticed something was wrong. And if he kicked them out of his office that would only confirm their suspicions. So he sighed and grit his teeth and tried to endure their company.

'We got a couple of Greenway's guys in holding downstairs,' Gunn was telling the others.

'They sang like canaries,' Lorne said, 'in the literal sense - one even had a pretty good voice. But what they know or don't know, it's gonna take me a while to crack.'

'You can't just see it?' Fred asked. But Lorne shook his head, 'I read people's destinies - their own intentions. I can see second hand knowledge, sure, but it's not always clear. One guy is thinking of proposing to his girlfriend - he's worried about where to do it, whether she'll like the ring … it kinda clouds what he knows about his bosses whereabouts.'

'We told 'em to focus on Greenway,' Gunn said, 'to give Lorne a clearer reading, but we can't make 'em do it. We can't get inside their heads and point them in what direction to think.'

'Unless we give them something,' Wesley suggested, looking up from his books. Everyone turned to look at him, except for Angel - who was barely listening. Wesley shrugged, 'we know there are mystical and botanical compounds that can relax a person, allow them to cheat a reading, like cheating a lie detector. It can't be outside the realms of possibility that we can find or create a substance that can focus a mind on a particular point, a mystical truth telling drug - as it were.'

'Fred, is there anything in the company's records that fits that bio?' Gunn asked her. The head of the science department scrunched up her face, thoughtfully. 'I guess I can get some of the lab technicians to run through what we have on our databases. Even if such a thing doesn't exist yet - we can use what we have to cook something up.'

'And that won't slow you down on modifying your equipment to trace Greenway that way?' Wesley asked her. But she shook her head. She and Knox were working on that personally - she could spare some other guys to check down another avenue. Wesley nodded, clucking his tongue slightly disapprovingly. 'Knox … of course.'

Fred looked flustered.

Angel sighed and stared out of the window. 'Angel?' Wesley's voice had lost the cold tone of disapproval and now sounded concerned. 'Angel - is everything OK?' Angel decided not to answer. But his silence didn't deter his friends. 'Angel?'

'Oh everything's great!' he suddenly snapped. 'We're bringing back Greenway that's…' he turned round and saw his friends staring at him, the looks of worry and concern on their faces, '... that's what we're supposed to do. It's a good thing. A good thing.'

'And yet you don't sound very happy about it,' Gunn pointed out. 'Big dog - I aint criticising, but you don't seem to be doing anything - at all - to help work this case. Seems to me like you don't even wanna.'

'Greenway is a bad guy, he needs to come back here to be punished - and we're gonna make that happen,' Angel said, fighting to keep his voice even.

'Right - we're happy, The Senior Partners are happy - win win.'

'Win win,' the vampire repeated, under his breath. Wesley was still staring at him, his blue eyes were dark with concern. 'Angel - what is …'

'You think there's any such thing as win win?' Angel suddenly asked them all. His voice came out unnaturally loud - and he felt a moment's embarrassment at his friend's surprise. He lowered his voice before he carried on. 'We don't win, where the Senior Partners are involved. We do exactly what they tell us. We do what they want. And they're working for the opposite side. So if we're doing their bidding - where exactly is it that we win? Huh? Can anyone tell me?' He stared around at them all - his eyes accusatory.

'We all got something when we came here,' Gunn told him, 'and we all knew what we were signing up to.'

'Is that you talking? Or that fancy new brain upgrade they gave you?'

'I don't hide the fact I like it here. I believe in what we're doin'. I believe we can do some good. We are doing good. And that includes hunting down Greenway and dragging his ass back to stand trial. I get that you miss killing the monsters and saving the honeys - but we do more to protect the world here than we ever did out there.'

'Right - we're doing good, up here in our ivory tower. And out there people are still suffering and fighting and dying. But we don't save them - because we're looking out for our bottom line.'

'It's called the bigger picture,' Gunn said heatedly.

'It's called sitting on our asses and serving evil,' Angel yelled back.

The rest of the team shifted uncomfortably. Angel sighed and rubbed his head. 'Sorry guys,' he muttered. 'This place … it gets to me.'

'Maybe it's time to call it a night?' Wesley suggested. 'It's late,' he checked his watch, 'so late it's early - in fact. We should all get some rest and start fresh tomorrow.'

There was a murmur of agreement and the team collected up their things and headed for the door. Angel stayed sat behind his desk, still staring into nothing. Wesley stopped in the doorway and looked back at him. 'Gunn's not wrong,' he said, 'we are doing good here, Angel, we do save a great many lives … but if you don't believe in the work, if you're heart's not in the role, then this place will just suffocate you - crush you until you can't keep going. And maybe that was The Senior Partner's plan all along. You need to fight this, Angel. We need you - head and heart in the game.'

Angel nodded, though his eyes remained blank. 'Night, Wesley.'

'Night, Angel.'

* * *

It was a long while afterwards that Angel finally managed to stir himself, getting up out of his chair and heading for his private elevator. Everything seemed quiet and still. But appearances can be deceptive - deep beneath Wolfram and Hart, in the very lowest recesses of the building, a group of demons were chanting. The chamber they were in was lit by bright, fluorescent lights and in the middle of the room was a giant, submerged, circular holding tank. Above the tank was a platform with a control panel. One of the demons took a crystal from around its neck and inserted it into the control panel. It was a perfect fit. There was a whirring sound - and then a metal plate slid across, obscuring the crystal. The panel lit up - and then, with a rumbling noise that shook the whole room, the holding cell began to rise from the ground.


	48. You're Welcome: Part Three

_Part Three_

Giles had found everyone chairs and made everyone tea; Buffy and Cordelia had been shooting covert glances at each other the whole time - each trying not to let the other young woman notice. Cordy was sticking with her assessment that something was different about Buffy - though she couldn't quite place it, just a different aura about her that spoke of something Cordy didn't quite understand.

Buffy had been just as quick to notice differences in Cordelia. Her hair was short - that was new; a chic, wavy bob which framed her face. It suited her. But there was more than just the obvious difference. Cordelia had introduced Doyle to Dawn and explained about his visions, and there was just something in her expression, every time she looked at this short, unprepossessing, little man - a softness that Buffy would never have expected to see on Cordelia's face. It was as if the meanest girl in Sunnydale had suddenly grown a heart … and over this guy, of all people. And there was something else, something in her eyes - the way she looked at you that suggested … Buffy wasn't sure what, but it was different to the vapid, self centred way Cordy had viewed the world back in high school.

'So … Giles tells me you're a slayer now?' She asked, she couldn't help a slight grin appear on her face as she thought of _Cordelia_ having to go out and save people, but she bit it back. 'How's that working out?'

Cordelia saw the faint trace of a smile - and flushed with annoyance. Whatever the indefinable difference was, she was still the same holier than thou Buffy. 'Well, you know, it would have been nice to be asked first - it's been kind of a game changer. It's not like I wanted this.'

Well, no matter how soft-hearted Cordelia might be these days - she still had that towering sense of entitlement. Some things never changed. 'Gee, Cordy - next time I need to save the world from unspeakable evil, I'll make sure to double check that it's not an inconvenience to _you_.'

Cordy tutted. Here it was - same old same old - Buffy acting like no one else's feelings were important. 'That's so like you, Buffy. Always the same. I have serious, legitimate pain here and you're all "blah blah must protect the world" - you don't ever think about anything but your own thing.'

God! Cordelia really thought the world revolved around her. 'I'm the slayer, Cordy, my "thing" is pretty crucial.'

'Yeah - well, thanks to you, now I'm the slayer too.'

'You're welcome.'

The heads of the others had turned back and forth as the two slayers verbally sparred - as if they were watching a particularly thrilling rally at a tennis match.

Cordelia snorted, when she spoke her voice was high; irritated and brittle. 'You know, you can just hand wave this whole thing - pretend you did what you had to and it's no big deal. But it is a big deal. To me. To those little girls upstairs abandoned by their parents for being superfreaks. You've seriously screwed up our lives - you can't just go round pretending like we're in the wrong for not being thrilled about that. You know, we actually manage to save the world on a semi- regular basis,' she motioned between her and Doyle, 'we've never changed people's whole destinies to do it.'

It was Buffy's turn to snort. 'The two of you? Save the world? You mean Angel saves the world and you carry his weapons and take his calls.'

'Hey! Just last year Doyle killed an ancient God, hell bent on world domination - not Angel.'

Doyle shifted uncomfortably in his seat, 'there was that whole part about how I was the one that inadvertently unleashed her on the world though, princess, I was only cleaning up my own mess.'

But Cordelia only waved her hand airily, as if dismissing his words, 'and Angel is always going off the deep end, evil or just in a really bad mood; lurking in dark corners and sketching. When that happens - who do you think holds down the fort? We do. That's who. _We help the hopeless_.'

'Then I would think having slayer powers would come in handy.'

'I was a pretty good fighter before all this went down. I had my own thing as well, my own place at Angel Investigations - I had an entire business to run. Plus I sorted everyone's injuries for them. Now I have to run a business _and_ go out and fight every night _and_ fix up my own injuries. I'm just saying - in your shoes, I would have thought through the ramifications of Willow's spell for a little longer before I just decided that was the plan.'

'Cordelia - get out of my shoes.'

She arched an eyebrow and glared pointedly at Buffy's feet, 'like I'd wear _those_ things.' Buffy opened her mouth to retort, but was cut off by Giles clearing his throat. 'All right, ladies, we're not in the library.' Everyone stared around at the room full of books. 'What I mean to say - this isn't high school. A lot of time has passed, you have both grown and changed and experienced things your younger selves probably couldn't even imagine. So there's no need to relate to each other like you're still in a battle to the death over who becomes Homecoming Queen.' Both women shifted in their seats, folded their arms and refused to look each other in the eye. 'Right, then,' Giles said cheerfully as if everything was resolved. 'Now - Cordelia is a part of the slayer outfit, whether that is something either of you would have chosen or not, and she wishes to know more about what it is we do as an organisation and what the limits of her power are. She has as much right to ask for that as all the other girls we have here.'

'OK, fine,' Buffy agreed. She looked up and raked her eyes over Cordelia. 'As I'm here, I'll review the troops - run a training session for the older girls and see where we are - who's battle ready, any weak spots.' Her expression became challenging. 'If you think you're up to it - you can train with the slayers.'

Cordelia met the challenge in Buffy's eyes with her own, 'fine.'

Dawn, however, was looking less than impressed. 'You're gonna spend all day training?' She asked in disbelief. 'What am I gonna do? Sit in the corner and watch? I can't believe I'm missing school for this.'

'Dawny, this is a good chance for me to see where we're up to with training. You can spend the afternoon with Giles.'

'I do have some fascinating research planned,' he told her. The teenager looked even less thrilled. Doyle saw her expression and smiled sympathetically. It must be hard being the normal kid sister of a superhero - not dissimilar to living your whole life as the short sidekick of an impossibly handsome vampire. Never being the special one, always having to come second and be OK with that - because the world needed the special person and the special person needed your support. 'You know,' he said, 'you girls are off to train - and I bet me and Dawn are only gonna slow Giles down if we try to help with the research … Why don't we leave the slayer gang to it and go … someplace else? London's pretty big - I'm sure we can find somethin' to do that's better than hangin' around here all day. See some sights, get in trouble - it'll be fun.'

Dawn looked surprised but grateful, and began to smile. Buffy, however, was looking less than convinced. 'Are you sure you can keep her safe?' she asked, raking her eyes over Doyle as if assessing his abilities to fend off demon hordes that might attack her sister. But Dawn only rolled her eyes, 'I'm 17!' she cried, 'I can keep myself safe!'

'I used to be a teacher - I can do the whole educational day trip thing. Never lost a kid yet … I did kidnap one one time but …' he shook his head, 'there were circumstances.'

Buffy still did not look reassured, but Dawn had already put her coat on and was not hanging around to be told she had to stay in the library and spend her day researching. So in the end, the slayer gave in - and Dawn and Doyle left, Doyle swiftly kissing Cordy goodbye. 'Don't really get Dawny into trouble,' she murmured as their lips brushed against each other.

'Hey - I am a trouble free zone.'

'Don't get you into trouble either.'

'I promise.'

'And don't go and see anything I might wanna see with you.'

'Scouts honour - crappy tourist destinations only.'

Once they were gone, Buffy and Cordy made their way up to the attic training rooms and Giles settled down to start researching The Scourge.

* * *

There was a knock at the door, Spike cursed and rolled out of bed. The clock told him it was still early, the kind of time corporates like Angel would get up and start the rat race. He was a creature of the night, he shouldn't be disturbed at this hour. 'Alright, alright,' he muttered - as the hammering at the door continued, 'bloody hell.'

He pulled the door open, _Doyle_ was standing there - that insufferable, smug grin he always wore was on his face. No wonder this git and Angel had been friends - they were both the most self satisfied sons of bitches Spike had ever known. 'I see you've learned to knock,' he said pointedly.

'You locked the door,' _Doyle_ shrugged. 'Didn't want to interrupt you if you - uh - needed the privacy. Aren't you gonna invite me in?'

Spike walked away - leaving the door open, and the other man took that as his invite and followed him inside. The vampire had headed on over to the fridge and taken out a beer. Sure it was early morning here in Los Angeles, but it must be past 12 somewhere in the world. If the sun was over the yardarm… hell, he was a vampire, he didn't need to justify early morning drinking - even with a soul. 'So what brings you here, Doyle?' he asked, taking a swig and watching his messenger over his beer bottle. He wasn't sure he trusted this guy.

Sure, Angel had trusted him for years - but a) Angel was a ponce and a great big tit and b) this guy had turned on Angel and gone to Spike behind his back. Now b) only further proved that a) was true - but if this guy could turn on Angel, after all these years at that, then he could turn on Spike as well. He couldn't help but get the feeling that Doyle was using him, though he didn't know for what.

_Doyle _smirked even wider and stuck his hand in his pocket, pulling out a crystal and holding it up. 'Shiny,' Spike remarked.

'Hey - I went to a lot of trouble to get this. Met with some dangerous types - real dangerous types, some who want me dead.'

'And yet here you are.'

'I can take care of myself.'

'And what exactly is it that you want that hunk o' rubble for?'

_Doyle_ sat down on the couch and leaned his head back. He had been out in the underworld, talking to mystics - guys who were connected to the great beyond, more so than he was even. He'd asked about the ritual Greenway had performed - the one with the candles and the dead nuns - asked what type of portal that kind of magic might open, where it might lead to.

'And?' Spike asked, interested despite himself.

'A sacrifice of holy women means he's headed into one of the darker dimensions, one governed by dark powers - the kind of place they'd welcome a nun slaughterer.'

'You telling me this bloke jumped into hell?' Spike asked, sounding somewhere between surprised and annoyed. 'Even if that's true, that doesn't help us. There are loads of hell dimensions. Thousands.' He began to count them off on his fingers. 'You got your fire hell, your ice hell, your …' he paused and wrinkled his brow trying to think of another. 'Ice hell, your upside down hell…'

'Doesn't matter if he's gone to toy poodles on parade hell - you'd go there and get him back, 'cause you're the good guy and that's what the good guy does. But anyways,' he rested his hands against the back of his head and smiled up at Spike, 'you really think a guy like Greenway took a calculated jump into hell?… not his style.'

'But you said -'

'I said he was in one of the darker dimensions. That doesn't mean 'hell' as we homo sapiens have conceived of it. It just means a place where … the morals are a bit more fast and loose, where the PTB can't quite reach.'

'But _you_ can?'

_Doyle _smiled again. 'Now, Greenway's human - he's gonna wanna go to a dimension where humans won't stand out, where he won't get himself eaten on sight. Needs an atmosphere he can breathe. Food, water - and let's be honest, he hasn't escaped justice here to go to one of the third world dimensions. He's used to living in style, so he'll want to go to a place he has connections - a place he can pick up his old life as if he were still at home. No slumming it, no scavenging, no hiding in caves from things that want him dead … Add in everything we know - and that sort of narrows our options right down from thousands to … one.'

'It does?'

_Doyle _nodded and held the crystal up, 'and this bad boy is gonna get you there - and back… assuming you wouldn't rather slaughter five nuns of your own, of course?'

* * *

Cordelia took a deep breath, and slowly raised her left arm away from the ground - so she was left balancing on only her right hand; her legs sticking up straight in the air in the perfect handstand. Around her, nineteen other slayers in their late teens and early twenties did the same. 'Feel the energy flowing through you,' Buffy told them from the front of the class. 'Each breath is your life force, your essence, your spirit. As it flows through you, you can feel it - harness it - to control your thoughts and your movements. Just breathe - and _be_…'

Cordelia closed her eyes and focused on her breathing and on keeping herself perfectly balanced. She felt a sense of inner calm, it was a deep peace that she had never felt before. Previous meditation, such as she had ever done it, had centred around creating positive energy and achieving personal goals. But this was much quieter - more neutral and more focused. It was just her, her life force and her power; all coming together to create this moment of perfect balance.

'Now bring your subordinate hand back down,' Buffy said. Cordelia's left palm hit against the mat again, and her body shifted a little now her balance was changed. 'And then bring yourself down, rolling forward.' Cordelia tucked her legs and turned her handstand into a forward roll, sitting back up once she was right side up once more. Around her, the other young slayers sat cross legged on their own mats and listened to Buffy.

Buffy was talking to them about Taoist breathing methods and how the concept of Chi could help them in their training. Cordelia narrowed her eyes and watched her closely. This was different - bringing eastern philosophy into her fighting. The Buffy that Cordy had known - she had been big with the punching and kicking, not so much with the thinking. Sure, she'd always had a plan up her sleeve, but she had been more reactive in her style; flown by the seat of her pants and taken each demon as they had come. And training had mostly involved shutting the library down to visitors and pummelling Giles. Somewhere along the line, Buffy had taken more of an interest in the theory behind fighting, and started to learn the principles behind different martial arts credos. And now she was not only using these herself, but passing them along to others.

Angel had always been into Tai Chi, though he hadn't probably gone in much for the breathing exercises. Which meant this was something Buffy had studied and learned for herself, once Angel was gone. And the things she knew now had changed her. To Cordelia, Buffy had always been her not quite friend, who she didn't quite like who just happened to have superpowers - but now she was more than that, it went deeper. She was a warrior. And Cordelia wondered if that was the change she had noticed earlier.

'OK,' Buffy said, 'get back to your feet - it's time to spar, I wanna see what your fighting technique is like.'

The girls stood up and got into partners, they took up starting positions and then - on Buffy's command - began to trade blows, ducking and weaving and dancing around. Cordelia kept her weight on the balls of her feet - her opponent rushed at her and she shifted her balance and used the momentum of the other girl's run to flip her over. Then she held out her hand to pull the other slayer to her feet and they took up starting positions again.

Buffy was walking in between the couples, stopping to watch them - giving pointers, positioning them and correcting their posture, sometimes giving quick demonstrations. Even with her hands full, sparring with another slayer, Cordy kept an eye on her - watching her work. She was more sure of herself now than she had been - though after so many years that shouldn't be a surprise. But there was a confidence in her abilities, that allowed her to pass on what she knew, that had never been there before. Maybe it was just time, maybe it was a confidence that came from dying and coming back or maybe it was after training potential slayers last year - but Buffy was more than just a slayer now, she was a teacher and a mentor. She was a General.

Buffy had always been the centre of their little gang, she had always been the one they looked to to save the day - and she had done, unfailingly. But Giles had been the boss, the grownup. She had deferred to him and his knowledge, needed his support and his training. And now she didn't. As Cordelia watched the other slayer move around the room and train the other girls, she realised that Buffy had surpassed all that - grown past her need for guidance. Grown up. And she knew it.

She was the boss now - and Giles answered to her. That's why the sign on the building was a 'B', because this was her outfit. She was remaking the watcher's council in her own image - making it work for her and the other slayers rather than the other way around. She had faced every monster imaginable, fought every battle thrown at her and come out on top and changed the system in the process. And that was why she seemed different. That was the change to her aura, to the expression in her eyes. She had gone from a weapon of the watcher's council, fighting for her life and with the weight of the world on her shoulders to the leader of the council, the boss, the mentor, the expert.

As Cordelia ducked the fist of her opponent whilst watching Buffy patiently coaching these younger girls, she realised that high school was a very long time ago and that she and Buffy were both very different people to the girls they had once been.

* * *

Doyle and Dawn had been to London Zoo, where Dawn had been very taken with the lion cubs and Doyle had been slightly unnerved by the spider monkeys, and then walked back through Regent's Park. They had headed to Baker Street, discovered that Sherlock Holmes' house was actually a bank and, disappointed, made their way to the museum that was housed a few doors down.

'It's a cheat is what it is,' Doyle said, as they queued for their tickets. He paid their admission, still grumbling, and the two of them went up the narrow rickety stairs to the fake 221 B.

'How does this place even work?' Dawn asked, 'Sherlock Holmes wasn't real ... You can't have a museum of fake stuff. What's in here?'

The answer was rather underwhelming. The place was set out like the great detective's apartment - his dining room and sitting room on one level and his bedroom higher up. There were several wax work figures - and little placards explaining who they were and, behind ropes and under glass, artefacts that purported to be from several of Holmes' cases - along with a description of how they had helped him solve the case.

'This place is mad,' Dawn said, shaking her head as she read a sign telling her the clearly plastic black sphere was the black pearl of the Borgias which Sherlock Holmes had uncovered during the adventure of the six Napoleons. 'I don't know what's more mad, this place, or us for being here.'

'Well - you know - at least we can say we've been.'

She laughed. 'Oh yeah - 'cause everyone's always asking me if I've been to the Sherlock Holmes Museum. It's been so embarrassing having to say 'no' all these years.'

They headed back down to the gift shop where, despite their misgivings about the place, they still bought a deerstalker hat and a pipe between them - and then they headed back out to the busy road.

They weren't far from Madam Tussauds, but once they got there the line was so impossibly long that they didn't even consider joining it. So instead they took a break from their sightseeing and headed into an 'American' diner for a milkshake.

Dawn came to a stop in the doorway and stared around at the flags and the jukebox, the shiny chrome of the counter and the red leather of the booths and the roller skating waitresses. A chalkboard menu listed the different burgers on offer. Burgers seemed to be the only food on the menu. 'Wow - this place is _aggressive_. Is this really what they think of us?'

'This is how the rest of the world views America, yeah - sobering sight isn't it?'

They took a seat at a booth and Dawn continued to stare around, 'I've never been in a place like this when I lived at home. This is like if Disney did American Diners - you know? An overblown exaggeration of reality.'

Doyle nodded, 'I got a British friend, Wesley, back in L.A. He goes to this place - a British theme pub. It's … kinda exactly like this only America doin' Britain rather than Brits doin' America. You know - tryin' too hard to be somethin' it's not. Flags, music, poor attempts to copy the food and drink o' the culture… but for some reason, perhaps 'cause it's so bad, Wes finds the place soothin'. He goes there when he misses home.'

'Do you miss home?' Dawn asked him, her voice was suddenly very casual - and she was looking down at the menu, her concentration a bit too intense. Doyle studied her for a moment. 'Sometimes,' he said, 'though I've been gone so long now that the home I left wouldn't be the home I'd be goin' back to - if that makes sense? Ireland has moved on without me, and I miss somethin' that doesn't exist anymore.'

Her forehead wrinkled as she thought about this, but she didn't look up. 'I guess that makes sense… how long do you think it takes for that to be true? Could you go back after a year or …' her voice was still hyper casual, though her furrowed brow belied her tone.

'Nothin' much has changed in California since you left, Dawn,' he told her, softly. She looked up at last, and relief was clear in her expression. 'So - uh - are you missin' America?' he asked her.

* * *

Spike yelled as he fell through space and then felt his body slam against the hard ground. 'Right then,' he said blearily, 'we won't be portal jumping again.' He pulled himself upright, wincing with pain and stared around him. There wasn't much to see, he was surrounded by a thick layer of dense smog. He frowned. Doyle had told him Greenway would have had to have jumped to a dimension with a breathable atmosphere but this … if Spike wasn't a vampire he could tell this black cloud of pollution would be choking him.

He stood up and began to walk through the dark haze. It triggered a memory - long forgotten - of the pea-soupers that would descend on London back when he was alive, when people would stumble through the streets - unable to see their hands in front of their faces - and fall victim to the knives of desperate criminals who hid in the fog; losing their purses if they were lucky, their lives if they were not. This was worse though - and it was only because of his predatory night vision that he was able to see where to put his feet. Remembering his past made him wary and alert as he stumbled onward, he had no idea what kind of nasty might be lurking in this gloom.

But - far from criminals and monsters looming out of the darkness - he appeared to be completely alone. The place was deserted and silent, the fog muffled even his own footsteps. Slowly, he became aware that he was walking down a road - though an empty one with no traffic - and that there were buildings on either side of him, though no people came in or out. 'Literal ghost town - that's what this bloody is,' he muttered to himself.

He crossed to one building and pulled on the door - it opened easily and he found himself in a lobby - a large empty space with nothing but two elevators and a doorway leading to some stairs. The windows blocked the worst of the smog out and the air in here was clearer - but the gloom was still overpowering. No natural light made it way in here, and there were no signs of life.

He pressed the call button for the elevator and waited as it made its way down to him, it took a long time and he tutted impatiently - sighing deeply and raising his eyes heavenward, 'bloody hell.' With a loud ding, the bell rang and the door slid open - he stepped inside and looked at the buttons. The lowest floor he could access was floor 45. 'What do all the poor sods living on floor 44 do?' he muttered, pushing the button. The door slid closed and a voice said, 'going up.'

'The buggers speak English. That's convenient.'

It took nearly a minute to reach the 45th floor and when he stepped out, his jaw dropped open. It was busy up here - it was the lobby area of an office building and people - human looking people - scurried past down the corridors. The technology looked different to anything Spike had ever seen - it was all shiny and chrome and looked … more futuristic than what they had back home.

But the biggest clue that he wasn't in Kansas anymore was what was going on outside the windows. He stood in front of a large pane of glass and stared out. The sun was shining and the sky was blue this high up, but he could still peer down and see the smog he had escaped from. The buildings surrounding the one he was in all stretched skyward, going up hundreds of storeys - as if the people, having destroyed the ground with all the thick, black fog had just abandoned it and built upwards, living in the sky instead. And in the space between the buildings, acting as if they were on a normal road - hundreds of cars and trucks flew through the air, stopping at traffic lights and weaving around each other. He stared upward, watching across the road as the flying vehicles pulled up outside buildings, landed on docking stations, and people climbed out - entering the buildings at the 50th, 60th - even the 100th floor.

'Right then,' he said quietly to himself, 'how exactly the bloody hell am I meant to find Greenway in all this?'

* * *

The team were back at work in Angel's office - though once again he was brooding more than he was helping. Wesley thought he might have made a breakthrough with his books - something that would help them track Greenway. 'The ritual may prove to be the key,' he was telling the others, 'the lay out of the corpses, the pattern of the candles - I've been studying the Albravian Codex, which is one of the worlds seminal texts on dark rituals relating to interdimensional travel, and it seems that it is possible to narrow down his destination based on the rites he performed.' He took out a sheath of paper and handed it across to Gunn. 'I looked into Wolfram and Hart records and they have a number of contacts who are experts on the codex. They've been used a number of times over the years - I imagine anyone who's worked for the company any length of time would be familiar with them.'

Gunn scanned the list, 'I'll have 'em brought in, see if we can't get them to talk.'

'They may be quite dangerous - powerful.'

'I'll be my most persuasive.'

'OK, then what?' Lorne was balanced on the edge of Angel's desk, he looked between the two others. 'Say one of these expert types gives up the goodies - are we going to have our own sacred slaughter to get through the dimensional realms? How do we follow Greenway?'

'I guess maybe we could try and build some kind of device that opens portals,' Fred said, 'I might have to extrapolate a whole new discipline of quantum mechanics on the fly, break all the laws of nature and math …'

'Hopefully that won't be necessary,' Wesley told her, 'it only took a book to get to Pylea, the orb to get to the insect's dimension, the key and the coin to access The Power's holding dimension - even Quortoth only takes the right words, and that dimension is supposed to be sealed from this one. A ritual slaughter is a crude method of stepping between dimensions, a blunt instrument used by someone with no magical power of their own. Those who know what they're doing can use more refined methods. The mystics should be able to find us a way in once we know where we're going. Opening a portal is the easy part - it's the precision required to get to the right place which takes time. If the mystics can help us out...'

'We can have Greenway back by bedtime,' Gunn finished up. 'Right - guess I'll start knocking on these mystic guys doors…' he started to head out but was blocked in the doorway as Harmony appeared. 'Uh - boss?' she asked.

'Not now, Harmony,' Angel said - he was staring out of the window - he was only vaguely aware that the team seemed to be well on their way to solving their problem.

'Um - OK - but do I get the rest of the day off too?'

He swivelled his chair to stare at her, 'what do you mean?'

'Everyone's leaving - the whole building is emptying out.'

The team glanced at each other, surprised. 'Gunn, Wes - go find out what's happening,' Angel said, heavily. The two men nodded and headed out.

...

Out in the lobby, they found that Harmony was not exaggerating. The whole place was swarming with lawyers and paralegals and scientists and assistants all pushing their way to the elevators and the stairs. 'I'll go check with security,' Gunn said and headed off.

Wesley took a step out into the sea of busying people. He felt a hand grab hold of his elbow and turned to look. Lilah was there looking relieved. 'Thank God - I've been looking for you,' she said, 'we need to get out.'

'Lilah - what's going on?'

She dragged him along through the crowd. 'We need to get out of the building - right now. It's a code 7.'

He came to a stop, grabbed her and swung her round so she was facing him. He stared into her face. 'What's a code 7?'

* * *

Buffy walked in between the pairs of sparring women. So far she had avoided the part of the room with Cordelia in, but nevertheless she had been watching her covertly. She was good - better than good. She was fast on her feet and her technique was well above par - and she was inventive, never doing the expected thing - always keeping her partner on her toes. Or off them, to be more accurate. Time and again, Cordy managed to flatten her opponent. And then every time she would help her back up and check she was OK before they started again.

She watched as Cordy flipped the other slayer - grabbing her wrist and hurling her over her head. The girl cried out as she hit the floor - and a moment later Cordy was sat down next to her 'Oh my gosh - I'm sorry, did I hurt you?'

'My wrist,' the girl held it up, wincing slightly.

'Here let me see.'

Buffy watched as Cordelia gingerly took hold of the girl's wrist and began to test for sprains or broken bones, asking questions about where it hurt in a gentle voice. Her eyes were soft, as she worked - and her fingers were, too - Buffy could tell just by looking. And she remembered the softness in Cordy's face every time she had looked at her half demon boyfriend, and what she had said about tending everyone's injuries back in L.A.

This was a whole new side to Cordelia - a much more caring and tender one than had ever been glimpsed back in Sunnydale. It was as if Cordelia now actually thought about people who weren't herself, worried about them and took care of them. That was … that was something Buffy would never have thought possible. And the way she handled the other girl's wrist, seemed to know what to do - what to check for - suggested she had training and expertise in first aid, she had developed an entire skill set focused on helping others. That was the most unCordeliaish thing Buffy could think of.

And it wasn't just the first aid where she had expertise. All slayers were naturally good fighters, with preternatural reflexes, it came with the job description - but Cordelia was head and shoulders above the other girls in the room, technique wise. She must be learning that from somewhere - and she didn't have a watcher - so Buffy realised that she must be training with Angel, it was him that was honing Cordelia into a warrior. But she must have asked for that help, must have wanted to excel at being the slayer - had been driven to train. Cordy cared about things other than shoes and makeup and boys and her own advancement now. She had run Angel's business for him, supported him when he was bad and moody and carved out a useful position for herself in the world, even before the slayer powers changed her over night. She was grown up and responsible … and so far away from the mean girl, queen bee that Buffy had known.

She supposed she couldn't avoid her forever, she crossed over to where Cordy was still checking over the other slayer's injuries. 'Everything OK?' she asked.

Cordelia glanced up at her, 'oh - Shannon has sprained her wrist, it's not too bad, but she could do with putting some ice on it.'

Buffy nodded, 'OK - Shannon, take five - I'll partner Cordy whilst you rest up.' The other slayer nodded and went to sit out and Buffy took her place. Cordy got back to her feet, looking slightly nervous.

'You ready?' Buffy asked her - and Cordy nodded. They took up starting positions. Buffy swung her fist, but Cordy ducked it easily - and they began to circle each other warily, looking for an opening. Cordelia kicked out - snapping her leg at Buffy's chest, but Buffy caught hold of her foot, stopping the blow from landing and compromising Cordelia's balance. Immediately, Cordelia bent over backwards, her hands touching the floor- and she used the bounce of the mat to handspring her way to freedom, backflipping away from Buffy and kicking her under her chin as her legs came over. Buffy staggered a few steps backwards before she regained her footing - and then span round and delivered a roundhouse kick just as Cordelia landed back on her feet.

Cordy was knocked to the floor under the impact, but she flipped herself back up threw another punch. 'That's good,' Buffy said to her. She returned the hit in kind, 'but try not to drop your shoulder - it telegraphs what you're about to do.'

'Right,' she hit again, but Buffy ducked it. 'Still telegraphing,' she told the newer slayer. 'You gotta keep your next line of attack secret from your opponent. If he knows what you're gonna do, he can block it.' They danced around each other a bit more, feinting and dodging. 'Come at me,' Buffy said. Cordy rushed her, but Buffy flipped her easily - and she slammed down on the mat on her back, hard. 'Ow!'

'I always like to use my opponent's strength against them,' Buffy said, 'turn it into a weakness,' she held back and let Cordy get back to her feet, 'what's your signature move?'

'Well, usually I just kick 'em in the goolies. It's why I don't like fighting girls.'

'Keeping things simple is an often underrated technique,' Buffy conceded, still circling. 'What do you think the most important thing is to remember when you're fighting?'

Cordelia ducked another punch. 'I've always been a great believer in keeping your balance,' she said, raising her fists and keeping her weight on the balls of her feet.

'Why's that?'

'Because if you lose your balance…' she suddenly rushed Buffy. Buffy moved to block the attack, but it was a feint and Cordy changed direction at the last moment. Buffy stumbled and Cordelia scythed her leg out, taking Buffy's ankles out from under her. She collapsed to the ground.

'... you lose,' Cordelia finished up, looking down at where Buffy was lying on her back, blinking and gasping in surprise. She held her hand out, and helped the other slayer back up.

* * *

'It's a fail safe,' Lilah explained, Wesley had dragged her back into Angel's office and was now making her explain what was going on to the whole team. 'The Senior Partners built a fail safe deep beneath Wolfram and Hart.'

'Why?' Angel asked her. She shrugged, 'they were never sure they'd be able to control you, keep you working strictly on their side - so they devised a way to … go nuclear if you pissed them off.'

'And you're saying that this fail safe is now activated?'

'If there's a code 7 then that's what it means, slugger. This whole place is about to blow - hence my telling Wesley we need to get out of here. Now.' She looked around at the team, who sat there unmoving. 'I'm sensing you maybe don't understand the meaning of now.'

Angel ignored her, 'Lorne,' he turned instead to the anagogic demon. 'Go down to company daycare, check they've evacuated. If they have - find them, stay with Connor. If they're not out yet - get him the hell out of here.'

'Consider me gone,' he hurried out of the room. Angel turned back to Lilah, 'but we're not going anywhere - tell us more about this fail safe.'

'Well - I don't know what it is exactly. The Senior Partners were not exactly giving guided tours of their secret weapon. I just know it's huge and alive - and specifically designed to destroy you.'

'And are The Senior Partners behind this? Did they activate it - or is there some other player at work?'

'Don't know - and frankly, right now - don't care. You really don't seem to be understanding the 'nuclear' part of why we have to get out of here.'

'There must be a way to stop it,' Angel said to her.

'The only way to shut it down is in the chamber itself.'

Angel looked around at his team, 'OK - you heard her. You all need to get out - I'll go down there and…'

'What?' Fred interrupted him, 'Angel you don't know what's down there - what you might have to face, you can't go alone.'

'This thing is meant for me - I can't risk anyone I care about.'

'We're in danger all the time!' she protested, 'we know the score. If you try to face this thing alone you'll fail. You need us.'

Angel looked like he was about to argue, opening his mouth as if to speak, but Wesley spoke up. 'She's not wrong - time is of the essence and this thing will be guarded. You'll need all of our help to get this done. Otherwise you will be destroyed.'

Angel shut his mouth again and nodded, 'OK,' he said, 'but if I tell you to run - you all run. And if I tell you to leave me behind - you leave me behind. No questions asked. Agreed?'

'Agreed.'

'Good.' He looked across at Lilah, 'Lilah, get outta here.'

* * *

'...So it turned out the monks had built all my memories - and modified everyone else's to include me, I'm not actually real. Or - I'm not actually a real person,' Dawn shrugged as she sucked on her straw, drinking her banana milkshake, 'my whole family - my whole life up until I was 14 is completely fake.'

'Huh,' Doyle frowned, he stirred his own shake with his straw, 'so ...you were never really in Sunnydale back when Cordy was? Today was actually the first time you met for real? … that _is_ weird. I remember her talkin' about the slayer's kid sister. She mentioned you in some o' her stories back when we first met. But … she didn't really know you…' A sudden look of realisation crossed his face, 'she never really talked about y', did she? The monks modified my memory too - they literally changed the whole world.'

'It's best if you try not to think about it too much - it makes your head go all floopy.'

'I'll say.'

Dawn shrugged again, 'Cordelia's just the tip of the iceberg - you know I've been thinking about it and … I've never actually met my own dad.'

'I never met my dad,' Doyle said.

'Yeah but - I remember mine. And I guess he remembers me.' She smiled - though it was a sad, reflective smile. 'I remember back when he left us, I cried for a whole week. Except … I didn't. I wasn't really there.'

'Wow … this is … wow. How did you get your head round all this?'

'It took a while - I was pretty crazed at first. I cut myself, I skipped school - I yelled just awful things at my mom,' she looked sad again for a moment - as if regretting every moment she had ever spent mad at Joyce.

'I did a lot o' yellin' when I found out I was half demon,' Doyle said, nodding his head as he recognised the rage Dawn must have felt when she found out she was the key. 'I was so angry - depressed. I drank pretty much constantly. Stopped goin' to work - single-handedly destroyed my marriage … from the sound of it you coped a lot better than I did when the motherload o' crazy hit.'

'I went through a whole Klepto phase after my mom died.'

'Oh … well … I never had a mania or nothin' - but I did steal a few cars, robbed a couple o' banks.'

Dawn snorted shake through her nose and began to choke. She wiped her face with her napkin and when she looked up she was laughing. 'That's so hardcore,' she said, sounding impressed.

'Thanks,' Doyle looked pleased at her praise. 'I did a bit o' jail time too,' he boasted, '… just a weekend though. Got off on a technicality.'

'OK - if Buffy knew this she would _not _have let me spend the day with you. I think you would definitely come under the category of "bad influence". She can be pretty uptight.'

'Ah - what she doesn't know can't hurt her.'

'That's what I try and tell her - she still insists on knowing where I am every second of the day, though.' She stabbed her straw into her drink, looking briefly annoyed at how overprotective her sister was.

'It's just because she cares,' Doyle said reasonably, 'you'd miss it if she didn't. It's good to know you're loved - even if it gets in the way of what you wanna do. I spent a big chunk o' time out on my own - nobody to care about, no one who cared about me … it's not a good way to live.'

'Is that when you went through your not so petty criminal phase?'

'Yep.'

'Well it's not like I'm gonna rob a bank just 'cause Buffy takes her eyes off me for two seconds. She still acts like I'm just a kid. I'm 17, I can take care of myself. But the way Buffy acts - you'd think I was gonna get attacked by rampaging monster fiends every time I set foot out of the ….'

Her last word was drowned out by the sound of the glass in the windows smashing and shattering to the floor. Several of the customers screamed out in alarm - and then three huge, spiked, green demons crashed their way into the diner and pointed machetes at the staff behind the counter and the people sitting in the booths.

Doyle sighed and fixed Dawn with a stern eye, 'you know this is your fault for saying that, right?'


	49. You're Welcome: Part Four

_Part Four_

'You do not belong here,' a robotic voice said behind him. Spike turned to look, a small metal droid was hovering in the air - shooting out red rays of light, scanning him. 'William. Bloody comma The. Vampire class. You are not of this world.'

'Right, yeah.'

'You must report to interdimensional immigration c308-'

'Not bloody likely,' Spike interrupted. He tilted his head and scrutinised the floating droid, 'so you recognise who everyone is, right? You're the welcoming party.'

'That is correct.'

'Am I the only bloke to have jumped through into this world recently?'

The droid went quiet, bobbing up and down in the air - and there was a rattling sound, like files being flipped through at speed. '48 hours ago, Greenway, Alonzo. Human Class.'

'Yeah? And … I don't suppose you happen to know where in this godforsaken, blade runner dimension he's got to?'

The rattling noise sounded again. 'Delta quadrant, subsection 4 - east side.'

'Right then,' Spike smiled with satisfaction. He grabbed hold of the droid - which began to beep in alarm. 'You're comin' with me - in case he moves…' and he strode off through the building, coming out a docking station just as a large, silver bullet train hurtled past through the air. He vamped out - waited for the last carriage, and then jumped onto the train - hanging onto the back of the carriage with one hand, and keeping the droid safely tucked under his other arm.

* * *

The team made their way down to the lowest sub section of the Wolfram and Hart basement. As they got to the bottom of the steps they found their way blocked by a web of green laser beams. 'What is this?' Fred asked, looking at the crisscrossing green light nervously.

'Let's find out,' Angel stepped forward - and as soon as he crossed the path of the laser net, triggered an alarm. A red light flashed on the wall and a siren sounded and then, all around them, doors slid open and people began to walk out - walk towards them. The team gripped their weapons.

'Zombies,' Wesley said. Gunn groaned, 'not again,' he raised his axe and chopped through one of the slow moving corpses before swinging at another. 'They better not bite me this time.'

They all bunched together, into a square, fighting back to back as the zombies circled them, hitting out with their weapons. The reanimated corpses fell - but more would always appear, coming out of the doorways in a never ending stream.

'Why has this place always gotta use zombies?' Gunn grunted as he swung again and again with his axe.

'Cheap - I guess,' Fred said from behind him. Her sword scythed through the air and decapitated one of her attackers.

'We don't have time for this,' Angel cried impatiently. He didn't have a weapon - and was fighting with his fists and feet, throwing punches and landing kicks. 'The whole building's gonna blow.'

'You and Fred go on,' Wesley told him, stabbing a zombie and then kicking it away from himself. 'Charles and I will hold them back.'

Angel grabbed hold of Fred's arm and pulled her through the crowd of Zombies - heading onward. She glanced back as she ran, and caught one fleeting glimpse of Wesley, inundated with the walking dead - and then they were out of sight, and she and Angel were nearing their goal.

* * *

The slayers were taking five - stretching out to cool down, drinking from their water bottles. 'So - uh - I guess you do a lot of training with Angel, then?' Buffy asked. Although her relationship with Angel was so long ago now, although there had been other men since he had left, she still found the thought of his new life weird and uncomfortable. And found the idea that _Cordelia_ was a big part of that, that she knew Angel better than Buffy did now, even weirder. She wasn't jealous - but maybe jealous adjacent. Not that she would let Cordelia know that.

'Well, I used to,' Cordelia shrugged, and took a long drink from her water. 'Years ago - he taught me the moves, how to handle a weapon properly. I could handle myself in a fight pretty good long before the slayer stuff. And that's thanks to him … but _a lot _of water has flowed under the bridge since then.'

'You don't train together anymore?' Buffy furrowed her brow.

'Well - it would be kind of hard, what with him being at Wolfram and Hart and everything. I don't exactly just waltz into the evil empire every week for a work out.'

Buffy looked even more confused now, 'wait - you're not at Wolfram and Hart? You didn't go with Angel?'

'Of course not!' Cordelia looked scandalised at the very notion and shook her head vehemently. 'The rest of the team went with him but … Me and Doyle? No way - we know what that place is. Besides, Doyle's visions are from the PTB - we can't just go work for the other side. Someone has to keep helping the hopeless. Some one has to keep working the mission.'

'And that's you and Doyle?'

Cordelia nodded. Buffy was flummoxed. Wolfram and Hart might be evil but, from what she knew about them, they were connected. And they were rich. They had offered the team the full 401K package. Power, influence, tech, cars … money. Everything Cordelia Chase had always valued above all else. Everything she had lost back when her folks got busted for tax fraud. Cordy - the Cordy she thought she knew - should have jumped at the chance to lay her hands on that much wealth so easily.

But now it turned out that she had flat out turned it down, and sacrificed her family in doing so. Just so she could be the champion of L.A and help the hopeless. She'd passed over power and wealth for the good of others … that was inconceivable. 'Why didn't you go with him?' Buffy asked. She couldn't figure it out at all.

'He had to go - he signed his life away, but he needs to know that there are still champions out there, doing his job for him - completing his mission. We couldn't go - we have to do his work for him. And it's our work too.'

'But weren't you even tempted?'

Cordelia shook her head, 'the mission is what matters.' She saw the flustered look on Buffy's face and laughed. 'Buffy - I _like_ helping people. It's important and it's worthwhile and I did it willingly long before I was chosen to do it. Me and Doyle make a difference in innocent people's lives. That's worth so much more than a designer wardrobe, a penthouse apartment and a carpool. I mean - sure - I'd like that stuff, but not if the cost is selling my soul and turning my back on what really matters.'

'Huh,' Buffy couldn't think of anything else to say. She just stared at Cordelia, who wriggled uncomfortably under her gaze. The awkward moment was, thankfully, broken when the door to the training room was pushed open and Giles came rushing in. 'Buffy - I've just had a text message … Dawn…'

* * *

Doyle and Dawn had turned their table over and were now crouched low behind it, using it as a shield, whilst the demons smashed the place up. Her phone lit up - and Dawn checked her messages. It was Giles: Buffy was on her way. She nodded to herself and then showed it to Doyle. 'So now we just sit tight,' he said under his breath, low enough that only she could hear him.

But other customers, without the knowledge that rescue was at hand - and far less used to hostage situations than Dawn and Doyle, were freaking out. One woman wouldn't stop screaming. A small group of teenage girls were huddled in a corner - shaking and crying - and the body of one man already lay in the middle of the floor. He had tried to challenge the demons … they had broken his neck.

'Will you shut up?' One of the demons roared at the screaming woman, pointing its machete at her, 'before I shut you up.' The woman took one look at the curved blade and began to scream louder. The demon took a step towards her.

'We can't just do nothing,' Dawn hissed at Doyle. Looking very much like he wished that was exactly what they could do, he nodded. 'You stay down,' he told her quietly, and then shakily he got to his feet.

The demon raised his blade, the woman screamed even louder. 'Hey, bud!' Doyle called across to it. It turned to look at him. 'Yeah,' he nodded encouragingly, 'right,' he held his hands up to show he was no threat. 'Now - I think maybe we could all do with calmin' down here - tempers are frayed … things are gettin' outta hand - that helps nobody.'

Down on the floor, Dawn stared at up him, 'what are you doing?' she hissed.

'Stallin',' he hissed back at her. He looked back around at the demons. 'Now - I know you fine gentleman came here for a reason, and I'm thinkin' that reason wasn't just wavin' swords in frightened people's faces. You want the money?' He looked over at the trembling waitress hiding behind the counter. 'Open up the cash register,' he said to her, 'let 'em have it.' He turned to the screaming woman, 'and if we're all real quiet, they can take their money and go - and we can all go about our lives. So what do you say?' he asked the demons, 'we'll be quiet and you take the money and leave?'

'I say…' the demon walked over to Doyle, looked him up and down and then sniffed. His expression became one of disgust. 'I say you aint human,' he said picking the half demon up by his shirtfront, one handed. 'And we aint gonna listen to what some little halfbreed has to say.'

He hurled Doyle across the room. The Irishman slammed into the opposite wall and fell to the floor. Hidden behind her table, Dawn let out an involuntary yelp. A thousand plans flew through her mind and she discarded them all, realising that Buffy wasn't here yet - and Doyle was out for the count - and so all that left was her. Just like Doyle had done, she slowly got to her feet.

* * *

Spike let go of the bullet train as it hurtled through the air, and landed on a docking station in the delta quadrant. The droid was still bleating away in alarm under his arm. He ignored it - and entered the building. 'This is the place?'

'After a bit more frantic beeping, the droid replied 'affirmative' and then went back to its distressed alarm tones. 'Well, tell me when I'm getting warm,' he said to it - and made his way through the long corridors.

* * *

The holding cell had risen fully out of the ground now, steam was pouring off it. The demons stood around it in a circle and continued to chant. They broke off when, with a strangled scream, one of them went flying through the air and slammed into the opposite wall. Turning, they saw Angel standing in the doorway - glowering. 'Wanna tell me what's going on?' he asked. The demons glanced at each other and the - with a wild battle cry - all charged at the vampire.

* * *

'This isn't gonna work,' Dawn said - she spoke calmly and, like Doyle had done, had raised her hands to show she was no threat. But when the massive demons turned to look at her she swallowed hard, already regretting the decision to step in.

'Oh yeah, little girl, why's that?'

'Because you're asking for trouble.'

The demons laughed - and one stepped right up into her face. 'We're demons - we like trouble.'

Dawn shook her head, 'not this kind.' The demons laughed again. 'Are you gonna stop us?' It sized her up, 'you and what army?'

It was suddenly kicked across the length of the diner. 'That would be me,' Buffy announced.

* * *

'Greenway, Alonzo, Human class,' the droid suddenly beeped, 'straight ahead.' Spike slowed down his pace. There were two men up ahead of him, standing in the corridor, talking. One was dressed in the strange clothes of this strange dimension - but the other was in a normal business suit. He was short and pudgy, with smooth skin and thinning hair and a large pair of spectacles; he didn't look much like a supervillain. He looked like a tax accountant.

The men shook hands and the one that belonged in this dimension walked away. Spike stalked closer. 'Alonzo Greenway?' he asked.

Greenway looked up, irritated, 'what's it to you?'

Spike let go of the droid - so both his hands were free. 'I've been sent to collect you.' He whipped his right fist out and smacked the small, soft man a hard right cross.

* * *

Angel kicked one demon in the head and then ducked under the arm of another, rolling across the floor. 'Angel!' Fred threw him her sword and he caught it deftly in one hand and jumped back to his feet. He slashed the sword through the air and beheaded one demon and then used the blade to plunge through the chest of another. He kicked the skewered demon away from himself. 'Fred - shut that thing down!' he yelled at her.

She ducked past another demon and ran towards the control panel, 'oh boy,' she began to study the way the device worked, muttering under her breath as she examined the switches and dials and levers. 'Something is powering this, but where…'

Angel threw another punch with his left hand and then decapitated another demon. 'Sometime soon, Fred!' he yelled - as the tank beneath his feet began to rumble and vibrate. The vents released a whole more steam.

'It's coming!' Fred called back, still running her hands over the control panel and trying to trace back what was controlling what. A sudden spark of electricity shocked her and she pulled her hand back with a yelp, 'OK - something different,' she murmured. The tank rumbled again - and she peered over the side of the panel to look at it. Something very large, and very scary was swimming inside of it - and Angel was standing right above it, still fighting the demons. 'Oh crap…' she muttered.

* * *

Before the demon had even hit the other wall, Buffy had spun around and kicked the machete out of the second demon's hand. Behind her, Cordelia was taking on the third demon, kicking it in the face repeatedly, forcing it to give up all the ground.

Dawn sank back down behind the table - but kept her eyes fixed on the fight. Buffy and the demon were trading blows, throwing fast and furious punches. But behind her - the first one was back on its feet and creeping back up. 'Buffy look out!' Dawn cried - and Buffy turned, saw a giant, green fist swinging her way and ducked - so the demon hit its own brother instead.

Over the other side of the diner, Cordelia had backed her own demon right into a corner - but with an enraged roar, it lashed out with a mighty fist and sent her spinning off. She slammed against the counter and the demon pounced.

Down on the floor, Doyle came round, shook his head - and saw Cordy pinned down by the very demon that had thrown him across the room. Without even thinking, he morphed into his spikes and launched himself at the demon. He heard several of the other customers squeal in terror as he changed form right in front of them - but he didn't have time to worry about that. He landed behind the larger demon and began to heave it away from Cordy. He wasn't strong enough to pull it clear, but he was able to get it to stagger back a few paces before he lost his balance again, and that gave Cordelia room to slide out from under it and go back on the offensive.

She smacked it a hard backhander and then ducked beneath it's flailing arm, seizing it and twisting it up the demon's back into a hammerlock. It roared in pain, and she twisted harder - until it's hand opened up involuntarily and it dropped its weapon. She caught the blade in other hand before it fell to the ground, and then kicked the demon away from herself.

It stumbled and fell to the ground, and she advanced - blade raised. But out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Buffy, trapped between the two other demons and taking a beating.

* * *

Greenway crumpled as soon as Spike's fist hit, but that didn't stop Spike sticking the boot in as the man fell. Once on the floor, he started to scrabble away trying to get some distance between himself and this man who had just turned up and started attacking him. 'Nope!' the vampire sprang forward and grabbed hold of him again, hauling him back to his feet. 'It's not gonna work. You're going home.' He smacked him again just for the sheer pleasure of it.

As Greenway realised that this man meant business - and more than that, he meant home as in earth, he began to struggle in earnest, twisting and turning and trying to pull himself loose from Spike's grip. When that didn't work he began to cry out for help. 'Kidnap! Kidnap!' he screeched, still twisting in an attempt to yank himself free. Spike punched him again, 'shut your hole, mate.'

He loosened his grip on the man, just a fraction, as he reached inside his coat pocket to pull out the crystal.

'I'm not going back there,' Greenway told him. 'I'm not going back just to go to jail.' Spike, stopped reaching for the crystal and hit him again. 'You should have thought of that before you slaughtered five holy women you daft git.'

'I'm not going back,' Greenway repeated - and then raised his voice once more, 'kidnap!'

A whole fleet of security droids came zooming down the corridor from all directions and surrounded the two men, using their lasers to scan the little tussle going on in front of them. 'Disturbance in the delta quadrant,' one of the robotic voices announced, 'send security team.'

'Piss off,' Spike snarled at the droids - but that was a bad idea - as they suddenly fired out green beams of light, which acted as a laser cage and trapped the two men in place. 'Cease and desist,' the droid told them, 'await the arrival of the security team. You will be processed.'

Spike dropped his hold on Greenway, who stumbled back a few paces and grinned at him. Blood was trickling down from his nose. 'See - I told you I wouldn't go back. Everything here is recorded - the security services are gonna see you attacking me for no reason. I'll go free - and you can enjoy some quality time in their penitentiary.'

'Not bloody likely.' He took a swipe at the green lasers - but there was a buzzing sound and he withdrew his arm with a yelp of pain, staring at it where the green light had burned it. 'So we can't get out of the laser cage?' Spike asked.

'Not until security lets us out,' Greenway told him, looking delighted. But Spike was unperturbed. He pulled the crystal out of his pocket. 'Yeah - what if we use a different door?' He began to chant the mystical words _Doyle_ had taught him, and then, inside the laser cage, the air rippled and tore and a large, swirly portal opened up. 'Sorry, Greenway,' Spike said, 'but this is your off-ramp.' He grabbed hold of the other man, who began to shriek once more - and they both fell through the tear in the universe.

* * *

Angel swung his sword and then leapt high into the air, somersaulting and then landing, he swung his sword again and slashed another demon across the chest. It coughed up blood and then fell to the floor. He turned to the next one. 'How's it coming, Fred?' he yelled, ducking a hit.

Fred didn't even answer, she was too busy working - muttering as she went - trying to solve the puzzle of the control panel. She was flicking switches and turning dials and she knew she was close. It was responding to her, making noises that told her she was on the right track.

Meanwhile Angel had lost his sword - it dropped from his hands and slid across the floor. The two remaining demons converged on him - one picking up the fallen sword and the other pushing him against the wall. With a scream of fury the demon plunged the sword into Angel's heart - drove it right through him and skewered him to the wall. They backed off, looking pleased with themselves and turned their backs, heading to stop Fred.

Behind them, Angel gasped and blinked with pain. And then, with a great groan, he pulled the sword right out of his body - and slashed it through the air in two swift strokes. Both demon heads rolled across the ground. 'It had to be made of wood, you jackasses,' he told them.

The control panel beeped - and the metal iris that had covered the crystal opened up. 'Yess!' Fred grinned to herself, 'I'm _good_.' She took the crystal out of the panel and the whole thing made a powering down sound, the holding cell began to sink back beneath their feet.

Angel jumped down, as he felt the ground begin to move beneath him. 'It's done?' he asked Fred, 'you stopped it?'

'It wasn't even that hard.'

He stared around at all the dead demon bodies that lay, mostly headless, scattered around the chamber. 'But the question is - why did they do this in the first place?'

* * *

'Buffy!' Instead of using the machete she had won, Cordelia instead tossed it towards the beleaguered slayer. It flew through the air in a graceful arc and Buffy's hand shot out and caught it, 'thanks.' The light gleamed on the blade as it sliced through the air. Slashing in one direction, she slit the throat of the first demon and then, whipping it back across and bringing it down before jerking it back up quickly, she disemboweled the second.

At the same time, Cordy booted her demon hard in the groin. It crumpled, and she took that moment to run up the wall and flip off over its head, landing behind it and snapping its neck, now it was at a more reachable level. She dropped the dead body to the floor and looked around, breathing heavily.

Buffy was likewise breathing heavily, but she was smiling as well. 'You went for the groin,' she said.

'Well - a wise slayer once told me that keeping it simple is an underrated tactic.'

'You did good.'

Cordelia grinned back. 'Thanks - you too.'

* * *

Once the failsafe had been deactivated, the zombies - those which Wesley and Gunn had not yet managed to dispatch - had stopped fighting and returned back through the walls. Fred and Angel had found the two men waiting for them in the basement, and now the whole team were reconvened up in Angel's office. Angel had taken Connor from Lorne, and was holding him close, as they tried to process what had happened.

'Are these the demons you fought?' Wesley asked, showing his boss an illustration from one of his books. It had only taken him a couple of minutes to locate them, Fred had been surprised how quickly he had come back with the exact thing they were looking for. But then she didn't know why she was surprised - Wesley always came through, and he always knew. They wouldn't last five minutes without Wesley, his expertise was so essential to everything that they did - and yet he never seemed to take any of the credit…

Angel looked at the picture and nodded, 'that's them - so what's their story?'

Wesley turned the book back around so he could read from it and started to fill the others in on the details. 'They are creatures of The Senior Partners,' he told them all, 'created by them to do their bidding on this plane of existence. A minion race, henchmen specifically created to carry out their orders.'

'But that doesn't make any sense,' Fred frowned, 'why would The Senior Partners tell these minion demons to activate the failsafe?'

Wesley shook his head, 'unclear.'

'What's going on, Lilah?' Angel looked up from his son, dandled on his knee, to the liaison.

'What on earth makes you think I would know?' she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

'These guys work for The Senior Partners. You work for The Senior Partners. You want me to seriously believe that you're not all connected?'

She laughed, 'connected, yes. In cahoots, no. Honestly, Angel - for one so old you can be so young sometimes. The Senior Partners have any number of minions, creatures and children down on this plane of existence - all scurrying around doing their bidding - but you can't honestly think they let us all link up and discuss our plans - _their _plans. I know what they want me to know, when they want me to know it. No more and no less. The same goes for everyone else they have working for them, keeping the apocalypse machine going.'

'And The Senior Partners haven't told you anything about today?'

She shook her head, and smiled around at them all. 'Which leaves us in a pickle. We don't know if those demons were working under the orders of The Senior Partners - or if they'd gone rogue and were working under their own steam. And going from the deafening silence from the big guys, I'm guessing they don't want you knowing either. They're choosing to leave you in the dark.'

'And that means leaving you in the dark, too?'

'Maybe they don't trust me not to tell.' She flashed a smile at Wesley. Across the room, Fred flushed and looked down.

'But whoever was behind this, we have the crystal now, right?' Lorne asked, 'no more activating the failsafe without us knowing? No more code 7? No more nuclear option?'

'I've got the crystal,' Angel nodded, 'and we'll be making sure no employee of Wolfram and Hart can get their hands on it. But we need to get to the bottom of …'

The door opened and Spike stalked in. Angel sighed, 'Spike - not now.'

'Brought you a little present,' Spike said, ignoring him. He reached behind the door and pulled in Greenway, bound and gagged - his eyes frightened and furious at the same time. 'Rumour has it you were looking for this little bird that hopped the nest.'

'Greenway?' Gunn looked dumbfounded, 'he jumped dimensions - how did you…?'

'I jumped right in there and brought him back, didn't I?' Spike answered, he eyeballed Angel, 'it's what we heroes do.'

Angel didn't answer, he bit his tongue and stayed silent. Fred was looking every bit as surprised as Gunn. 'But how did you track him? I have the best lab in the Western Hemisphere and I was still weeks off developing anything sophisticated enough to trace signatures pan-dimensionally.'

'I've got a little bit of help on my side. The big guys looking out for me and all.'

Again Angel didn't say anything, though he was now biting down so hard he could taste blood. He sat in his chair, gripping Connor, completely quiet as Gunn organised having Greenway taken off and put into holding - where he couldn't escape again, and Spike left and, after a while, Fred and Wesley and Lorne left too.

He looked back up when it was just him and Lilah left in the office. She smiled a brief, wintry smile at him, 'well - looks like Spike saved your ass today,' she said to him. 'Whether or not it was The Senior Partners trying to kill you - at least you can now hand over Greenway, it's a positive result. They might look more kindly on you.'

He stared at her, 'so you really don't know what happened today, Lilah?' he asked, heavily.

She shrugged. He continued to stare - for once, he didn't think she was lying. 'Then you have nothing of interest to say to me - get out.'

* * *

'Wow … _wow_ … what is this?' They were all back in Giles' study - and Cordelia was holding onto a weapon Buffy had just handed her. She closed her eyes and just _felt_ it. It was almost as if she could feel it talking to her.

'It's the scythe,' Buffy told her, 'it was forged in secret - aeons ago - just for the slayer. No one else can feel its power but us. Every one of us.'

Cordelia opened her eyes and looked down at the weapon in her hands, it felt so right - like it belonged with her. 'This is what Willow used?' she asked, 'to call us all? This is how she channelled the energy?'

Buffy nodded. 'Way back in time - like cave people days, these creepy dudes "the shadow men" took a girl and chained her to a rock, imbued her with the power of a demon so she would have the strength and skill to hunt the vampires.'

'The first slayer,' Cordelia said. It was Giles who answered, 'yes, and - as you know - it was she who threw the final old one out of this dimension. Though, if what you are saying is true - some of them have found a way back - I will keep looking into that.'

'She was this spooky, rasta momma who tried to kill us all in our dreams one time. And she pops up if you ever go on a slayer vision quest,' Buffy said. Cordelia and Doyle exchanged a confused glance - but didn't say anything.

'Anyway, the first slayer died - the way slayers do,' Buffy continued, 'and the next slayer was called. On and on down the generations, the deserts rolled back and shoes were invented and the shadow men became the watchers council - but it was still the same old schtick - in every generation, one girl in all the world. But - somewhere along the line - this group of women forged the scythe, and then hid it away and waited - knowing the time would come when everything would change.'

'And that's what you did last year?'

Buffy nodded. 'One girl in all the world just wasn't going to get the job done this time. For centuries, the watcher's council have hoarded their secret knowledge and used slayers as disposable weapons. They wanted to be the powerful ones - call the slayer, train the slayer, bury the slayer and then onto the next one; they claimed they were the ones fighting the war - and the slayer was simply the tool by which they did it. They wanted the slayer to do as she was told, fight as she was trained, follow orders and die when it was her time.'

'But you were never one for followin' orders?' Doyle asked.

'She never was,' Giles smiled proudly at his slayer.

'The old watcher's council was destroyed and all out war was declared on the slayer line,' Buffy said. 'Bringers - these guys in dark cloaks with their eyes cut out were murdering all the potentials.'

Cordelia remembered the previous year - and all the times she had been attacked out in the courtyard, outside the hotel, by mysterious men in dark cloaks. Doyle had saved her from the first attack. And from the second - though he had been possessed at the time and only interested in Kali and if any harm was done to her. Faith had killed the third bringer.

Buffy was still talking, 'so when I uncovered the scythe - pulled it out of a rock like I was King Arthur - I used it to call all the slayers. Now there are more slayers than watchers, the balance has changed - the power is ours - and every girl who could be a slayer will be one, will get the full use of her power. _And_ \- if when she grows up she wants to work as an active slayer, and help protect the world - then she will be paid for it, same as the watcher's were in the old days.'

'_Paid_?' Cordelia's eyes had suddenly lit up. Doyle chuckled softly to himself. But Buffy was nodding, seriously. 'The watcher's council is an ancient institution. They have a lot of money stashed around the place, and - luckily for us - they didn't keep it in the building that blew up. So now it belongs to the slayers. We're the ones doing the job - so we get a cut of the wealth.' Her eyes darkened, 'You can't save the world and worry about paying the bills, or working a regular job.'

Cordelia smiled wryly - she recognised the look in Buffy's eyes, she knew it from her own days just after high school. The worry that poverty brought, the constant weight on your shoulders and the nagging doubts in your head - grinding you down; the fear of how to get by - and the shame of having other people realise you weren't making ends meet. They had both been thrown out of their comfort zone abruptly, and forced to grow up and take on adult responsibilities; Cordelia when her folks lost their money and Buffy when her mom died.

And that kind of experience shaped you, had shaped them both - so they were now completely different from the person their high school self was on track to become. And Cordelia was now the type of person to count every cent, who had kept a business afloat for over four years by sheer will power and the fear of poverty snapping at her heels. And Buffy was using the hidden wealth of the watcher's council to make sure other girls like her never found themselves in the same position.

'The thing is - I know it's not fair on all those young girls upstairs, being made the slayer,' Buffy admitted. 'But being the slayer was never fair. It was always a job girls were forced to do because the men who wielded the power didn't want to do it themselves. We were born to be sacrifices to the dark. But now - now we don't have to wait our turn to get our power, and then fight and die unnoticed by everyone else. We're a family, the power is ours - and if we choose to use it, then we get compensated for our trouble. Evil exists - and someone has to fight it, I've just tried to make it so that those of us who do can do it as safely as possible.'

Cordelia nodded slowly, and finally put the scythe down on the desk, though her hands missed it immediately. 'I think you did the right thing,' she said. 'I think the world is better this way.'

'She's only sayin' that 'cause you're gonna pay her,' Doyle said, smiling fondly at his girlfriend.

Buffy rolled her eyes, but she smiled too. 'OK, Giles - Cordy is the active slayer in L.A, she needs to go on the payroll.'

Giles nodded, and started to look through his papers for a form to fill out. 'What about Doyle?' Cordelia asked. 'Watchers get paid too, right? And he's the closest thing I have to one. He does most of the research _and_ he has the visions which tell me who to go and save … and they're really painful.'

Giles looked at Buffy, expectantly. She nodded. 'Fine, Doyle can go on the list as well.'

Cordelia beamed in satisfaction. 'Well this has been a _very_ worthwhile trip.'

Buffy smiled at her, 'you know, I think so too. I'm really impressed at how you handled yourself back in that fight, Cordelia. And to be holding down a city the size of l.A all by yourself … I think you must be a natural at the slaying game.'

Cordelia smiled back at her, and this smile was warm and sincere and reached all the way to her eyes.'Well, I was lucky - growing up I got an opportunity to learn from the best.'

* * *

Angel sat in the dark, brooding once again. Things were even worse than he realised - he was in deeper than he knew, and had already lost more than he had understood. Spike - _Spike_ \- was the real champion now. Not just out there, doing the mission, helping the hopeless- Angel had already known he was doing that. But he was connected. Somehow - some way - someone bigger than all this was helping him, had shown him how to cross dimensions and bring Greenway back.

That weighed heavy on his heart as well. He had known the heroic thing to do was punch a hole in the dimension wall and worry about the consequences later, but he hadn't done it. He had sat here, in his office, in his comfy chair - whilst his team used all the resources of Wolfram and Hart to try and track their client. Meanwhile, Spike had done the heroic thing and got the job done. It seemed like - if the powers weren't already fully on Spike's side - then they would be soon. Spike was the real deal now. Angel was a corporate puppet.

And it wasn't just The PTB turning their back - if they had a back - on him. Today's events made him wonder if The Senior Partners had also decided they no longer had a use for him, maybe they wanted Spike in their corner, instead, too. He sighed, steepled his fingers and stared morosely at the opposite wall. He had rendered himself pointless - without meaning and without worth. He had given up the mission - sold his soul - and then allowed himself to be so ground down that even his new bosses didn't have a use for him. And if The Senior Partners didn't want him anymore - where would that leave Connor?

He knew he should try and fight this feeling of utter hopelessness, that he should put on his game face and try and fight his way through the depression that had settled on him. Everyone else here had found meaning in their lives, in their new roles - it was just him, slowly sinking - like one of the animals sucked into the tar pits.

He closed his eyes and sighed again. OK - let's say he got out of here, without The Senior Partners trying to kill him again - if it was them that had tried to kill him today - then what? With no higher power on his side, guiding him - giving him purpose - who was he? What was he here for? He'd been brought back from hell for a purpose - and both sides took credit for it … but now Spike had been brought back, just the same. And was doing Angel's job for him. Spike was taking his destiny - and Angel was just … nothing. With nowhere to go and no reason to live, and no hope for redemption. He wanted out of Wolfram and Hart - but after that? After that he might as well just walk out into the sunshine … there was no place left for him on this earth. It would take a miracle to give him purpose and meaning once again...

Beside him, the phone began to ring. Fearing that Harmony would turn up and talk at him again if he didn't answer, he reached out for it, though his movements were listless. 'Hello?' he said, blankly.

'Angel, man? It's me.' Doyle. 'Is it too late to talk?'

'It's OK,' though his heart was heavy and he didn't want to talk.

'Good - I'm in London, wasn't sure what time it was where you are.'

He was too depressed to even wonder why Doyle was in London.

'Listen, bud - I had a vision, a couple o' days ago now but this is the first chance i've had to ring - I need to tell y' about it.'

'Why don't you tell Cordy? Or _Spike_?'

There was a moment of confused silence down the other end of the line, 'this one was for you,' Doyle said at last.

'Can't have been,' Angel said, 'I don't work for The Powers anymore.' He sighed, deeply, 'I'm not their champion.'

'Yeah - well - they mustn't have got the memo - 'cause this one was definitely aimed at you. It was about The Senior Partners.'

_'What?'_ Despite himself, Angel sat up straight and his ears pricked up.

'Yeah - well - sort of. It was about these demon guys, emissaries I guess. Really powerful - a secret society that puts all The Senior Partners plans into play down on earth. I didn't get to see all their faces - there were lots o' them - lots of different kinds. Belong to a group. _The Circle of the Black Thorn_. The PTB - well, I think they want you to destroy 'em.'

Angel was only holding onto the phone loosely, now - and his mind was ticking over. This was why the failsafe had been activated. The Senior Partners had realised that the Powers had made a move against them - that they were planning to use Angel to strike a blow for the good side - and so they had tried to get in a preemptive strike. Kill Angel before he could kill their emissaries and destroy their plans on this plane of existence.

He felt a hollowness in his chest where his heart should be pounding with the sudden realisation. The Powers had not abandoned him, they were not done with him. They wanted to use his position from inside the company to strike a blow that would send the whole eternal chess game spinning off the board. And once he'd done that, ground the gears of the apocalypse to a screeching halt - even if for just one, shining moment - he would be free of Wolfram and Hart. He would be a champion again. This was his way out.

'Angel, bud, Y' still there?' he heard Doyle's voice down the other end of the line, He snapped back to attention, 'yeah, yeah - I'm here. Listen, I need you to do me a favour. Don't tell anybody about this OK? It's too dangerous for the others to know about it - yet. I'll tell them … when it's time, but for now - I don't want The Senior Partners going after them because they think they know something. I need the team kept in the dark.'

'Yeah - OK. Listen, man … I saw Buffy yesterday… she's … she's good. She looks great, she's doin' great. She seems happy … I just thought you'd wanna know.'

'Yeah, thanks.' He thought about Andrew's words - that Buffy's camp no longer trusted him now he was at Wolfram and Hart. That _Buffy_ no longer trusted him. That had stung - that had made him question his place as a champion more than anything else that had happened since he took over the law firm. Made him realise most acutely that he had lost his way, changed sides without realising it. But now he knew that wasn't true. Doyle's vision told him that The Powers were still in his corner. He still had a place in this world and a chance for redemption. 'Thank you,' he said again. And he didn't really mean for the news about Buffy - he meant for the hope the half demon had given him, the purpose - the mission. That was what Doyle had always done, that was how their relationship had started. And now - even halfway across the world - Doyle was still putting him back on his path, and giving him a reason to keep on fighting.

He thought he could almost hear the half demon's wry smile down the other end of the phone, as he picked up on the change in the vampire's tone - from hopeless to grateful. 'You're Welcome,' Doyle said.

* * *

**A/N next episode is 'Why We Fight.' **


	50. Why We Fight: Part One

**Why We Fight**

_Part One_

'Get out of here! Go on! Move it!' The man ushered his terrified family towards the back entrance. 'They're here - go on - I'll try to hold them back!'

'No!' the demon woman turned back to her husband and tried to pull him along with her, but he shoved her away, 'run!'

One of the children tripped over their feet - almost falling, and her mothering instincts kicked in, she scooped her little girl into her arms and began to stumble her way towards the back door; glancing sorrowfully over her shoulder at her husband - who was staying behind to buy them more time.

BAM BAM the front entrance began to buckle under the force of the jackboots pounding on it - a relentless banging that echoed around the open space inside. 'Get out of here!' the man cried again - and faced the doorway, expressions of terror and determination mingling on his face.

But it was too late. The door suddenly flew off its hinges - and the foot soldiers of The Scourge stormed inside, trampling all over the remains of the barricade the demon family had hastily flung up to protect themselves.

The massacre was swift and brutal and - by the time the soldiers marched back out - there wasn't a demon left alive inside the hideout.

* * *

Even though it was getting late, Doyle and Cordelia were still in their office - the lamps switched on and the coffee maker still in constant use. Not only were their bodies not quite used to the time difference - after returning from Europe - but Giles had also given them a hefty stack of books on the old ones to work their way through, and they were up late researching; trying to learn all they could.

'I don't think this one is gonna be much use,' Cordelia sighed, flipping listlessly through the yellowing pages of her current tome. 'It's about the old ones that were killed - in this dimension - and how they're buried in some deep well. It's got a big long list of their names but…' she exhaled loudly, blowing out her cheeks, 'nothing on The Scourge. I'm gonna file this under 'next!'.' And she put the book down and picked up the next one, yawning widely as she did so.

Doyle looked up from his own book; he was sat in the chair behind the computer, whilst Cordy flopped about on the sofa, and being more upright was keeping him more alert than his girlfriend. 'This stuff is pretty interestin',' he said to her, 'you know, origins o' the earth, demon family trees … but combin' through 'em for a mention of The Scourge isn't so much like looking' for a needle in a haystack as it is lookin' for a needle in Kansas.'

'This new one's about different dimensions,' she lifted her book slightly to indicate what she was talking about, 'maybe it'll have some mention of The Scourge's dimension - maybe a clue of how to get there or…'

'And then what? If you're thinkin' of goin' down there then you're on your own, Princess.' He shook his head - as if he thought she were mad - 'the unstoppable killin' machine that is The Scourge is bad enough up in this reality - but down in their dimension…?' he trailed off and shook his head again, it was too horrible to contemplate.

'Well - maybe if we could find the dimension we could seal it off - you know, like Quortoth?'

'Maybe … though it might just be easier if we could just get some direct info straight from the…' He stopped talking and brought his hand up to his head as the pain of a vision slammed into his mind, washing over him like the waves on the shore. He gasped and blinked at the terrible images being conveyed straight into his mind's eye, his whole body shuddering under the agony crashing into his skull.

As it subsided into a dull twinge, he looked up - still breathing heavily - and met the dark and worried eyes of Cordelia with his own horrified ones. 'We need to go.'

* * *

Angel checked on Connor and then went and sat out in his living room - staring out at the spectacular cityscape. The lights of L.A twinkled like a thousand fallen stars and, as always when he found himself quiet and high up, he felt that familiar sense of peace wash over him.

He smiled. He hadn't felt peace for what felt like a long time now - so trapped, as he was, here at Wolfram and Hart - so desperate to get out but with no hope of doing so. Having lost his identity as a champion and being forced to wallow in the shades of grey, never sure which side he was really helping.

That had all changed now. The Powers had sent Doyle a vision meant only for Angel, they were still in his corner, he was still their champion - even here, in this den of evil - they were still counting on him to fight the good fight. They had shown him a way to defeat, or at least defy, The Senior Partners - they were asking him to risk everything to bring evil to a grinding halt. The Circle of the Black Thorn. He needed to find it - and destroy it.

But - even though half of him wanted to get out there and rip this secret society to shreds without so much as a second thought - he knew he still needed to go carefully. The Senior Partners, already alerted to the fact that he knew of their emissaries, had tried to kill him already. He would have to lull them into a false sense of security. And his team - they would need to be kept in the dark - for now. Protected. He didn't doubt for a moment that The Senior Partners wouldn't try to get at him through his family; fire warning shots if they thought for a moment they were losing control of the vampire.

And of course - most important of all - there was Connor. Whatever course of action Angel determined to take, he couldn't do it until he had found a way to keep Connor safe. So - for now, he was going to have to keep his head down, and look like he was playing the game, look like the faithful servant of The Senior Partners, look like he was embracing those god damn shades of grey. Because - if he didn't play this game just right - then he had no idea what measures The Senior Partners would take against the people he loved … but he knew they would be nothing good.

* * *

Gunn sat at his desk, whistling a tune from the Mikado as he worked at filing depositions. He put one testament to the side and picked up the next, working his way through it swiftly, his pen scratching against the paper as he annotated. He read part of the statement and - realising that something was unclear - began to make notes, to check with the witness and seek clarification over … over … he stopped whistling and put his pen down. He shook his head as if to clear it and squinted down at the text - trying to regain his train of thought.

The words swam in front of him - he must be tired. He needed to know … he needed to know … but damn if he couldn't get his brain to work right now. He couldn't for the life of him remember what it was he had been about to write. He picked up his pen and just scribbled a large question mark over the pertinent section. He'd pick it up again in the morning after some rest.

He began to whistle again … repeating the last few bars and then … man, he must be tired. He couldn't remember what came next.

* * *

Despite the lateness of the hour, Fred was still not done working - she had to redo an entire experiment which Knox was supposed to have done but … he'd been distracted lately. Whatever was going on with him, he'd dropped the ball on this one - and now Fred had to go over all his work again. She entered the lab, it was dark and shadowy and - at this time - she expected it to be deserted. But that was not the case. A man, one she'd never seen before, was standing at the workbench looking through her notes.

'Excuse me…' she said, he ignored her and carried on reading. 'Hello?'

Eventually he looked up, 'oh - hi.' He smiled at her - he was young, good looking in a wholesome, all American sort of way. Very clean cut - but there was a darkness in his eyes, and a hunger to his smile that Fred found unsettling. 'I'm sorry,' he said to her, 'I was just trying to understand some of your equations here. I used to have a pretty good head for numbers. It's funny how you lose part of your mind when you stop using it.' He smiled again and put the notes down.

'Is there anything I can help you with?' she asked.

'Oh, don't be alarmed, Ms. Burkle. I just came to talk.'

Fred stiffened up. 'How do you know my name?' But the stranger ignored her question. 'Do you like working here?' he asked her instead.

'What?'

'You know - do you enjoy what you do? Do you wake up in the morning eager to start your day?'

She smiled, and started to take casual steps towards the door. 'Uh - I don't know, I guess I had my doubts at first but lately I've been feeling we're…'

'Please don't try and run, Ms. Burkle.' She froze up. 'I'd only have to stop you.' She turned and stared back at him, he smiled again. His tone was polite, friendly even - but he was looking at her like he was the big bad wolf, and she was Red Riding Hood. 'What do you want?' she asked him; knowing running, reasoning and pleading were out - she might as well cut to the chase.

'Actually, I came to see your boss. Angel and I are ... old acquaintances. I was friends with him back in the day, back when he was in his patriotic phase.'

* * *

_Angel sat in his dank little apartment, the wireless was playing music - which was better than the news broadcast. Ever since '41 the news had been nothing but war - in Europe, in the Pacific theatre - 2 years of troop movements and casualties, attacks from their side - retaliation from the allied side. The newspapers were just as bad. There were piles of the New York Journal stacked on his table, the top one read 'Allies Strike Back' … it was all there ever was, and Angel didn't care. Not about the war effort - not about the battles - not about the deaths. Not about any of it. He took a sip of his blood. _

_BAM. His front door was suddenly kicked in and a group of men came tumbling through, knocking Angel from his chair and onto the floor. When he stood back up, the men brandished huge, sharpened stakes right at his chest. He backed off. _

'_Alright, alright, calm down,' a middle aged man in military uniform came through the door, barking orders. He looked at Angel, 'when I say 'calm down' I'm talking to you. I want these guys wound good and tight in case you don't feel like cooperating. Take a seat.'_

_Angel sat back in his chair, and the military guy took a seat opposite him. Behind him another man appeared in the doorway. This one was middle aged as well - but he wasn't in uniform, he was dressed in a long black coat and a suit. He stayed quiet and stared at the vampire - whilst military guy asked Angel if he'd ever considered joining the war effort._

_Angel shrugged. 'No,' his voice was dead and blank._

'_Well, that's a shame. In these times we need all the able bodied men we can get.'_

'_I'm not a man.' He eyed the sharpened stakes pointing at him, 'but I'm guessing you already knew that.' _

'_Everybody's gotta do their part - that's all I'm saying,' the military guy told him. 'Doenitz has been kicking the holy hell out of us in the North Atlantic. We're losing 100 ships a month to his u-boats. Their damn submarines are faster, stronger and more powerful than anything we've got in the water. Up 'til now we haven't had much luck figuring out what makes 'em tick. But two days ago our boys happened to capture what happens to be a T-class German prototype submarine.' _

_Angel stared at the military guy with his blank eyes. 'That's … great news.' His voice was just as blank as his eyes were. _

'_It is,' military guy told him. Unfortunately - that wasn't the end of the story. Something went wrong when they were bringing it back in. Late last night, fragments of a distress call had been received - something was on that ship. 'You ever heard dying men screaming for their lives, Angel?' _

_By the door, the man in black smirked, 'of course he has.' Angel glanced up at him._

'_That sub's stuck in hostile territory,' the military guy said, 'but we need it if we're gonna win this war. It's down too deep to send divers. Pressure, cold'd kill a man...'_

'_But those aren't problems for you, are they?' The man in black took a few steps towards Angel, still smirking. 'You've been on our radar for some time now, Angelus.'_

'_The name's Angel.' _

'_Oh,' the man in black chuckled, 'right - you have a soul now. I represent a relatively new agency, the Demon Research Initiative. And we think you might be the solution to our little problem.' _

_Angel got to his feet, 'I'm not interested.' The man with the stake punched Angel right in the stomach, knocking him back into his chair. _

'_We don't particularly care,' the man in black told him, matter of factly. 'We figure if we strap enough weights to you, you will sink, regardless of your interests.' _

'_We need that sub,' military guy said, 'and we need you to deal with what's on it.' _

'_We had military intelligence investigate that sub's cargo manifest.'_

_Military guy pulled out a dossier marked 'Top Secret' and handed it across to Angel. 'We think we know what attacked our boys.'_

_Angel sighed and opened the file. He began to read the details - and his brow furrowed as he read._

_..._

_The survivors had holed up in the bunking area - just a handful of men, led by the ensign. Their captain had been killed along with most of the crew. So now it was just them - with Lawson in charge - and one Nazi they were holding prisoner. They were hot and sweaty, scared to death and tempers were running short._

_From outside of the compartment came a horrible screaming sound - a dying man pleading for help. The crew all listened in horror as their shipmate yelled in agony, listening to him die. 'Christ, he's still alive out there!'_

_Lawson made up his mind - and headed for the door. He was cut off by another of the crew, 'hey - where do you think you're going?'_

'_Get out of my way, Spinelli,' Lawson said._

_But Spinelli shook his head, 'they're dead - nothing we can do to help them now.' They'd been chased through the sub by … monsters - things the men had never seen. Never imagined before. And the monsters had killed all but this few of them, ripping the men apart as if they were made of straw. The only thing standing between the survivors and that same fate was the locked sub door. Hell if Spinelli was going to let the ensign open it up. _

'_Stay here, I'll go alone,' Lawson said, trying to get past his crewman. But Spinelli grabbed him, pushed him back and then drew out his gun - levelling it at his superior officer. Sure, that was a court martial offence - but he was gonna live to see that court martial. He wouldn't if that door opened - and he knew it. 'You open that hatch, we all die.'_

'_Get that gun out of my face, right now.' _

_He didn't lower his gun._

'_Right now.' _

_The tension was broken by a loud metallic clang suddenly reverberating against the outside of the hull. They all looked upward, dreading what this new thing might be. Lawson took that moment of distraction to gently lower Spinelli's gun. _

_Their heads moved as they followed the sound of the clanging, working out where it was going. 'Torpedo room,' Lawson realised, 'bring the German.' _

_They bundled their prisoner through to the torpedo room and listened. The clanging had become a tapping and they were trying to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from. 'It's in the tubes,' one of them realised. _

'_It could be another one of them.'_

'_I say we flush the tubes,' Spinelli said - not wanting to take any chances. But Lawson was still listening. The taps were coming out in a pattern - dots and dashes. Morse Code. 'It's SOS,' he told the others. 'Open tube number one.' _

_Cautiously, they flung open the hatch and then stepped back - guns pointed down the tube and stared at what was inside. _

_Lying cramped inside, Angel stared back out at them._

* * *

Doyle and Cordelia pulled up outside the place from Doyle's vision. It was an abandoned warehouse near the docks. The whole place had a deathly hush to it - a pall of silence that screamed volumes as to what had happened here.

Cordy killed the engine, and they took out their weapons and flashlights and headed into the building. They found the door kicked in - and inside the destroyed remains of furniture that had been flung up to form a barricade were scattered around like kindling for the fire. 'We're too late,' Cordy said.

'Yeah,' his voice was heavy. He knew they would be too late, knew before they had even set out. But still he had hoped…

They took a few steps further into the warehouse, spreading out - their hearts beating faster with trepidation for what they were about to find. Their flashlights shone into every corner and crevice, seeking out the grisly reason for their being there.

The Scourge were long gone - but the signs of their destruction, of their deadly rampage, were all around - the smashed windows; the door lying off its hinges; the belongings strewn around the room in a chaotic mess … and the trail of blood that the beam of Doyle's flashlight hit upon. He followed it.

Lying in a dark corner, half slumped against the wall with his eyes still wide open and glassy with shock, he found a demon man. His skin was a purplish grey and he had little black horns at his temples. He didn't look dangerous. He looked like a guy - just a purple one. But blood trickled down from an ugly head wound, and there was a sucking red hollow in his chest. Doyle sighed. 'Over here!' he called out to Cordelia, but his voice cracked half way through and he had to clear his throat and call out once more.

He felt her arrive by his side, and heard her soft, sad sigh as she took in the sight of the body. She squeezed Doyle's hand - and then crouched down beside the bleeding demon, checking for a pulse - or any sign of life. 'He's dead,' she said, and ran her finger tips over his eyes - closing them for the final time.

Doyle nodded. Of course he was dead. The Scourge wouldn't have left already if there was anybody left alive. He turned and shone his flashlight around the room - searching the rest of it. 'There must be more o' them,' he said quietly - 'all that stuff on the floor, this wasn't the lair o' just one guy. The Scourge…' he swallowed hard, 'The Scourge will have got 'em all.'

Cordelia got back to her feet. 'I'll … I'll go look for any survivors - will you be OK?' he nodded, but he didn't meet her eyes. She wandered away, the beam of her flashlight picking out a path for her, and Doyle gazed around the wide open space. He could feel the beating of his heart in his chest - slowed down to a heavy thud now he'd found a body, now his worst fears were confirmed. It felt weighed down with the horror that had happened here, too filled with sorrow - and guilt - to beat at a regular pace.

He wanted to get out. They had been too late. The Powers had sent him the vision too late - and even if they had got here in time … they couldn't fight The Scourge. They couldn't have prevented this - and the PTB knew it, so instead they had just sent him a punishment vision. Made him live the massacre, made him watch the people he had failed to protect die. He began to head for the back door, he didn't know how much more of this he could take. How much more of his own failure he could come out and look at, clear up the mess. Maybe next time - maybe next time he wouldn't even leave the office, wouldn't even tell Cordelia he had seen anything. It's not like they could do anything anyway…

* * *

Wesley pushed open his office door, a pile of books balanced in his hands. He came to a stop. Fred was inside, sitting on a chair - bound and gagged. He dropped his books and made to rush towards her, his every instinct pushing him on to rescue her - get her out of whatever trouble she was in.

But then he noticed the way her wide, frightened eyes were staring over his shoulder - as if trying to tell him something. He turned to look - and barely had time to register a man stepping out from behind the door and hitting him over the head, before he fell unconscious.

* * *

'_You wanna tell me how a man gets 400 feet down without so much as a dive suit?' Lawson asked. Angel ignored the question, 'which of you is Captain Franklin?' But the captain was dead - and Lawson was now the senior officer on board. Angel gave him his clearance - the one the military guy had drilled into him before dropping him in the ocean. No good sending down a rescue mission if the guys in need of rescue killed him for being a Nazi spy. _

_The crew accepted the clearance and put their guns away. Angel glanced down at the weights tied to his feet. 'Somebody wanna get these things off me?' _

_Back in the bunk room, Lawson explained the situation. The handful of them was all that was left: An ensign, a helmsman and some petty officers. They weren't much against the monsters just outside the door. Angel nodded, 'OK, Lawson, keep everybody in this room - lock it up tight.' He headed to the door. _

_Lawson took out his gun and proffered it to the newcomer. 'I've seen what those things can do to a man, I wouldn't go out there unarmed. Not by yourself.' _

_But Angel shook his head, 'keep it - you might need it.' He opened the door up, just enough for him to climb out. 'It's OK, Lawson, I know what I'm up against. Don't open this door up for anybody but me.' _

_Lawson nodded and closed the door behind him. Angel made his way through the next compartment, and turned the wheel on the hatch at the far end, to open it up. The door swung open … And Angel came face to face with the monster trying to break through from the other side. It was ... Spike._

_Spike took a step back and looked surprised to see his old grandsire on a German sub in the middle of the north Atlantic. It had been over 40 years, the last he'd seen of him was in China … 'Angelus!' He grinned, 'they'll let anyone in here.'_

* * *

On his way to the door, the beam of Doyle's flashlight fell onto a small object lying in the middle of the floor, blocking his pathway. He headed for it, crouching down beside it. He picked it up, frowning, to examine it further. And then he felt his slow heartbeat falter to a stop.

It was a shoe.

A little girl's shoe. A black, patent Mary Jane with a red flower sewn onto the front. The girl it belonged to couldn't be more than five or six. And she must be somewhere in here - lying dead. Just like the last one.


	51. Why We Fight: Part Two

_Part Two_

_The two vampires stared at each other in disbelief. 'Of all the bloody faces I expected to see down here…' Spike said, grinning widely. Angel gazed back at him, his own face unfriendly, he hadn't had much time for Spike back when they were both evil but now … 'You're a Nazi?' he said, nodding at the swastika armband on Spike's coat._

_Spike glanced down at it, 'what? Oh - no. I just ate one.' He grinned again, 'so they got you too, eh? Nabbed me in Madrid. Sneaky bastards, the S.S. Don't ever go to a free virgin blood party, turns out it's probably a trap.' He nodded to himself at the wisdom of his own words. _

_Angel rolled his eyes. 'You were captured at a free virgin blood party?'_

'_I know!' he chuckled ruefully. 'One minute I'm asking a fella why all the virgins look like Goebbels, the next I'm stuck on a box on this cursed ship.' He began to walk back down the gangway, Angel followed him. He was still yammering away. 'I feel better knowing they got you too. I'm not surprised. From my company it looks like they're rounding up the baddest of the bad.' _

'_Ah, you're gonna have to introduce me.'_

_Spike nodded. Of course. Though he had to warn Angel - these other guys were a bit stiff. He pushed open the hatch and went inside, Angel still following on. They walked over the bodies of the dead crew, all strewn on the floor - their eyes wide and glassy, their mouths still open in the shape of their final scream … and their throats ripped out. Two other vampires were standing there. One was a tall, powerful, middle aged vampire with a short hair and a clipped goatee. The other was an ancient, hideous Nosferatu looking thing, with a bald head and bat ears. His face was wrinkled, his skin was almost blue it was so pale and his nails were long, jagged and deadly. _

_Spike nodded his head towards them, 'this is Nostroyev and the Prince of Lies. Nostroyev, Prince of Lies, this is Angelus.' He grinned again. 'The Angelus.' _

_Nostroyev looked the newcomer up and down. 'Angelus…' he had a thick Russian accent when he spoke. 'Used to be quite a terror back in the day, haven't heard much of you lately though.'_

_Angel looked unimpressed. 'Haven't heard much of you … ever.'_

_That worked to wind the Russian vampire up. He smashed his fist against his chest and yelled out his credentials. He was the scourge of Siberia and the butcher of Alexander Palace. Angel still looked unimpressed. 'I was Rasputin's lover!' Nostroyev cried petulantly. _

_Angel gave Spike a look, as if asking if this guy were for real. Spike only rolled his eyes and changed the subject. He had broken these two out once he had got free … he hadn't realised Angelus was also trapped back there, otherwise he would have come and got him. But then - he grinned - they had had their hands full with the sailors. The Prince of Lies began to cackle._

'_Is anybody still alive back here?' Angel asked, ignoring the ancient vampire. But the answer was a negative, they had finished off the last of them. Spike peered back through the hatch, looking back the way Angel had come from. 'What about back there? Save anything for us?' _

'_Couple of men left in the torpedo room,' Angel confirmed._

'_Alright then - what are we waiting for.' _

'_No.' Angel held his hand up and stopped Spike from walking out. Spike looked confused. 'What?'_

'_We're not killing any more humans.' He realised that didn't sound like Angelus, he didn't want Spike to get suspicious. If he wasn't such a terminal idiot he should already be wondering as to why Angelus had disappeared so soon after Spike had killed the slayer. He wanted to avoid a three against one fight if at all possible. 'Well - not right now.'_

'_Why the hell not?' Spike demanded._

'_Because, if you hadn't noticed, Spike, we're trapped at the bottom of the ocean. So unless you know how to operate one of these things, we're gonna need their help.' _

_Spike scoffed. 'Oh come on! How hard can it be.' he strode across to the controls and began to pull at the levers. 'Forward, back, up, down…' as he pulled the last lever a shrieking alarm began to sound throughout the compartment - and the lights began to flash red with warning._

* * *

Doyle closed his eyes as he felt the memory rush over him, unable to stop it welling up and crashing down on him like the walls of a dam breaking. That first vision. That first massacre. That first dead little girl. The beginning of his punishment - and his atonement. And tonight … tonight had happened because he had never put that first massacre right, because he had never stopped those that had done it, that had slaughtered all those innocent demons.

And if he gave up, like he wanted to - if he didn't keep coming out to scenes like these, if he stopped fighting - attempted to stop caring - then massacres like these would never stop. More families would die, more little girls … and evil would win.

He stared at the tiny shoe clasped in his hand, the cogs of his mind whirring away. Somewhere inside this warehouse was the slaughtered body of at least one child: a dead little girl. And if he didn't find her first - Cordelia would. He couldn't let Cordy be the one to find the little girl's body, couldn't let that pain and guilt land on her. This wasn't her atonement; wasn't her pain to bear. He needed to get up - needed to tell Cordy to get out, he would do the rest … but he couldn't make himself move, couldn't make himself get back to his feet and start working the case. Instead, he just knelt there - on the cold, hard floor - staring at the shoe.

He didn't know how long he'd been there, when the sound of heels tapping on the hard concrete told him Cordy was back. 'There's a little girl somewhere here,' he told her, his voice was heavy - almost blank; numb, because it was easier to be numb than to feel. 'She's probably dead.'

'I know.' She sat down beside him. 'I already found her - all of them.' She sighed and shook her head, 'I'm sorry. None of them made it.'

He looked up at her in alarm, his numbness suddenly giving way to guilt. 'You shouldn't have … you shouldn't have had to…'

'No one should have to,' she said gently, 'yet here we are.'

'We gotta do somethin',' he told her. 'What we're doin' now … it's not enough. We need to … up our game, step up the fight.'

She shook her head again. 'We're not ready to fight The Scourge yet, Doyle. If we try - we'll be killed.'

'Well, we gotta do somethin',' he insisted. 'we can't just keep lettin' this happen to innocent people, innocent families. If it's not time to fight, then we gotta find a different way to protect people.'

* * *

_As irritated with him as if they'd never spent any time apart, Angel grabbed hold of the levers and tried to undo whatever the hell it was Spike had just done. Behind them, The Prince of Lies put his gnarled hands over his ears and hissed at the shrill sound and flashing lights until Angel had managed to silence the alarm. _

'_Tell you what,' Nostroyev said, once all was quiet again. He grabbed a fire axe from the wall, 'we'll leave one alive to work the boat,' he headed towards the door, 'and eat the rest.' _

_Angel hauled him back. 'Nope.' Nostroyev looked incensed. _

'_Uh yeah,' Spike said apologetically to the Russian vampire, 'probably should warn you - he likes to pretend he's the boss,' he pointed at Angel with his thumb._

_Nostroyev was still looking angry. 'You may have made a name for yourself muscling around weaker vampires,' he snarled. _

'_Hang on!' it was Spike's turn to sound angry._

'_But I am Nostroyev. I will tear you open and play "coachmen spare your horses" on the lute of your entrails. Get out of my way.' _

_Angel took a step back, as if backing down - and allowing the Russian vampire past. But as soon as Nostroyev took his first step, he punched him hard in the gut, grabbed the fire axe from him and then used the wooden handle as a stake, plunging it into his heart. Nostroyev exploded in a cloud of dust - and Angel looked at the two remaining vampires. 'We don't kill the humans until we reach land, is that clear?' he asked in a voice that brooked no argument. _

'_Heil Hitler,' Spike agreed, sticking two fingers up at his grandsire … he couldn't believe he'd forgotten what a git Angelus could be._

* * *

Angel sat on his couch, looking through files. He knew at some point he was going to have to use Wesley's books to help find the Circle of the Black Thorn, but he didn't yet want to alert Wesley or The Senior Partners on what he was up to. So, for now, he was contenting himself on reviewing client files - looking for the baddest of the bad, the movers and the shakers of the underworld that the law firm always did their utmost to represent. He was currently reading about one guy - prince of the Underworld kinda guy - Lord D'hakmarth. He seemed to fit the bio, he was going to have to research this one more carefully.

He glanced up as a shadow fell across the room. Someone was stood in the doorway. He expected it to be Wes or Gunn … but when he saw who it was he froze up.

The man who had taken Fred and Wesley hostage smiled at him. 'Hiya, chief. Don't tell me you don't recognise me.'

Angel recognised him, he never forgot a face… especially not of those he had sired. But this one, the young ensign from the submarine … 'Lawson,' he said.

Lawson smiled and put his hand over his heart. 'I'm touched. Aren't you gonna ask how I got in?'

But Angel shook his head. People seemed to break into the place on an almost weekly basis, didn't seem worth the trouble of asking for the specifics. This place might as well be a bus station.

'Seems like you're doing pretty well for yourself,' Lawson said, still smiling dangerously. 'It's a far cry from all those years you spent in the gutters eating rats.'

'You've been following my life. Now I'm touched.'

Lawson shrugged. 'I just check in every decade or so.' He laughed. 'Imagine my surprise when I found out that Mr. Vermin eater himself was now fighting evil and running Wolfram and Hart … mind explaining that one to me? Those 2 don't exactly go hand in hand.'

Angel glanced down at the file in front of him, and thought of the vision the Powers had sent him. 'It's complicated.'

The other vampire nodded. He found that true about most things these days. He sighed - not that he wanted to sound like an old man but, they used to live in simpler times didn't they? 'Never thought I'd miss being on that sub. Things made a kinda sense, down there. Keep your head down…'

* * *

'_Watch each other's backs. Stay alert,' Angel told the crew, as he marched them from their bunk room out into the control room. It was time to bring the boat in - and he needed them at their stations. 'Follow my lead - we'll get out of this, alright?' The crew nodded … but their eyes lingered on all the corpses of their dead friends which still littered the walkways._

_They arrived in the control room - where Spike and the Prince of Lies were lurking - and Lawson began to give the orders. 'Spinelli, take Heinrich up to the galley. Then do a full systems check. You got 5 minutes. Start with the batteries - I want juice as soon as possible.' Spinelli grabbed hold of the German's arm and dragged him away. Lawson turned to the next man. 'O'Shea you're at the helm. Tyler? You're gonna have to handle bow and stern.' _

'_If we have to surface, we can't out manoeuvre the Jerrys on batteries alone,' O'Shea warned. Lawson shook his head, he would get to work on the engines once they were underway but for now he just wanted them to get moving. _

'_And where does the captain sit?' Spike asked. Lawson pointed at the chair in the middle of the control room. Spike sat in it, 'and now who brings the captain his drink?' _

_Lawson ignored him, 'Hodge - you're on communications.' The youngest crewman didn't respond, he was just staring at Spike in a frozen, disbelieving horror. Lawson called him again and he flinched and made his way to the radios. _

'_And what should I do?' the Prince of Lies asked, clacking his overlong fingernails together. Angel grabbed hold of him and sat him down out of the way of the others. And then he noticed Lawson staring at the bodies lying at their feet. 'Let's get these out of here,' he said._

_..._

'_May I speak freely, sir?' Lawson asked. He and Angel had moved the dead crew out to the bunks and were now covering them up - but something was eating away at the young ensign and he couldn't leave it unsaid any longer. 'I recognise that's there a lot going on here that I don't understand … but those monsters butchered my crew … and apparently they're in the S.S.'_

_Angel sighed wearily. 'Spike's not in the S.S - he just likes wearing the jacket.' _

'_Yeah, that doesn't help me understand why we're working with him or keeping him alive for that matter.' _

_Angel sighed again - no, he should just stake Spike. He knew that. But it wasn't that easy. Spike was … well he was Angel's fault, he existed because of Angel's evil - and so Angel owed a debt to him, had a responsibility towards him. He couldn't just stake Spike and pretend like that made up for everything. 'I've got him under control,' he said. _

'_That's not the point, he killed my captain, sir. They're monsters I don't know why...'_

'_You don't need to know why,' Angel snapped. Then he forced his voice to be calmer, forced down the irritation at being questioned over his way of dealing with Spike. No one else was in his situation - had to watch a monster of their own creation kill and maim and destroy - and care about it, want to stop it … but not be able to. How he chose to deal with Spike - that was his business, no one else could know what this was like, so their feelings about it didn't matter. 'We gotta bring this sub in,' he said, 'those are our orders - isn't that the point? Following orders?'_

_Lawson looked at him. 'There's a difference between orders … and purpose, sir.' _

'_We got a job to do,' Angel answered him. 'That job is gonna help us win the war. I don't need you to understand every detail, but just know we're fighting on the same side. I need you to trust that I'm gonna get us all through this … safe and sound.'_

* * *

'Safe and sound,' Lawson smiled his dark smile at Angel. 'I guess now's not the time to argue semantics. Did you care about any of it? The ship? The mission? The men?'

Angel leaned back on the sofa and looked weary. He had cared as much as he could back then, once he was down there - and could see how frightened those young boys all were. But he had been a different person back then - and he didn't try to deny it. His soul was still quite new, he was out on his own - keeping himself away from humans so as not to be tempted. This had all happened about a decade before he had made his first disastrous attempt at saving a lost soul - back at the Hyperion. The Angel of the 40s was not the Angel of today - who had just been given a brand new mission, and a purpose - one he cared about more than anything except Connor. That he cared now couldn't make up for who he had been back then, but he couldn't change it either. There was nothing he could say to Lawson to make it right. 'What do you want?' he asked instead.

'Same thing I've always wanted: to understand.'

'Understand what … exactly?'

Lawson shrugged and began to walk towards Angel. 'Why we do what we do. How you manage to always -'

Angel kicked the coffee table. It smashed into Lawson's legs, knocking him over. He fell and smashed the table before hitting the ground. Then Angel seized the splintered leg and pounced on the downed vampire, hauling back his arm ready to strike home with his makeshift stake. Lawson reached up and grabbed hold of his arm, arresting it's descent. There was a brief struggle, and then Lawson laughed. 'You sure you wanna do that, chief?'

'Fairly certain I said I'd kill you if I ever saw you again.'

'Oh I never doubted you, but you gotta ask yourself: would I walk in here, unarmed - knowing that … without an ace in the hole? Wouldn't make much sense would it?'

Angel pulled back and dropped his stake. 'What did you do?' Lawson only smiled wider.

* * *

Back at the office, Cordelia sank down on the sofa - weary and depressed after having to deal with the bodies of the demon family. Doyle on the other hand seemed to be filled with a manic energy; ever since he had decided they needed to do more, find another way to defeat The Scourge until it was time to fight them, he had been restless - determined to make a start as soon as possible. He had fidgeted the whole way home and now he had flung his axe onto the floor and was sat behind the computer, rooting through the desk drawers.

Cordelia watched him. 'What are you doing?' she asked, eventually, 'what are you looking for?'

'I got an idea.'

'You think the way to defeat The Scourge is hidden in one of our desk drawers? … I don't think it is.'

He stopped rooting and looked up, surprised. 'No,' he said - as if she were being an idiot. 'I'm lookin for …' he shook his head. 'Look - we can't fight The Scourge head on. We can't turn up at a demon slaughter and beat 'em. Yet. So we gotta do somethin' else - think outside the box when it comes to protectin' innocent lives.'

'So what do you suggest?' she frowned.

He shrugged. 'Seems to me…' he took a deep breath, 'seems to me that the Lister demons are doin' OK. They found a way out. They survived. So I was thinkin' - what if other groups and families of demons followed their lead?'

'You're going to pack every demon in L.A off to Briole?'

'Well obviously not off to Briole - there's not enough room. But we need to start organising an evacuation - get anyone in danger out of L.A and find somewhere safe to put 'em. I already told Vito to get word out that demons needed to start leavin' - but I didn't tell him what was behind all this. Didn't wanna start a panic. But now - I think it's time to formalise a proper retreat strategy. Make sure everyone understands the need to run away - and help 'em do it.' He began to root through the desk again.

'So the plan is to start a demon underground railway?'

'Basically, yeah.'

* * *

Lawson took Angel down in his private elevator, leading him through into the conference room. 'Now I don't need you to understand every detail,' he said. The door opened, revealing Fred, Wes and Gunn all stood on office chairs, bound and gagged. Lawson smirked and turned to look at his sire, 'but I do need you to trust that I'm gonna get us all through this, safe and sound.'


	52. Why We Fight: Part Three

_Part Three_

'I'm not saying you're wrong,' Cordelia said - Doyle's head was still buried in the desk drawers and she was talking to his back. 'I'm just saying … how are we gonna manage this? We don't have the resources or … or …'

'We'll do what we did last time,' Doyle told her, still rooting away, 'hire a truck - get 'em out. We got money comin' in from the watcher's council now - we can afford to spend a bit on gettin' this thing up and running.'

'OK, sure - but where are we gonna take 'em? The Lister demons already had a location in mind, we just facilitated getting them on the boat. You said it yourself - we can't ship everyone to Briole. Where are we gonna take all these demons that's safe?'

Doyle straightened up, frowning, as if considering this problem carefully. 'I guess we take it on a case by case basis. Some of them might be native to somewhere else - we can send them back there. Or they might have family in another state they can go to. We can work somethin' out.'

'Fine - we work it out, then what? Think about it, Doyle. A whole bunch of demon types aren't gonna listen to us. We're human!'

'I'm not.'

She sighed, '_half _human,' she corrected - 'and believe you me that's the only side of you they'll see. You know what demons get like. And - besides - I'm a slayer. No self respecting demon is gonna take advice from a vampire slayer! They'll think it's a trap.'

'You know, you're right,' Doyle agreed, he went back to hunting through the drawers - finally finding what it was he had been looking for all this time. 'Maybe we won't be able to convince 'em.' He threw the object down on the desk - it was a business card, for a demon's rights and liaison organisation. 'But maybe Harri can.'

* * *

Angel stared up at his team, who stared back down at him - their eyes bulging with fear. He tensed up, ready to do some damage - but Lawson noticed, and was ready with his warning. 'Easy now, That's double-ought wire wrapped around your crew's necks. Take a fella's head clean off with just a little tug. Best not go rough housing. Something might get knocked over.'

Angel took a step back and shook his head. 'Whatever it is you want for me … this isn't the way to get it.'

But Lawson's eyes lit up in delight. 'Already gettin' it,' he told his sire. 'The worry in your eyes, fear of what might happen next … which is right on the mark, 'cause I got a feeling there's gonna be some blood spilled here tonight.' He shrugged and smiled; a rueful, reflective smile with a hint of nostalgia in it. 'For old time's sake.'

* * *

_Lawson returned to the control room and checked on his crew. O'Shea had both the bow and stern under control - though the stern planes were dragging. They would have to hope there was no need to control down in a hurry. He headed on over to Hodge to check on the communications system. It was all quiet out there - no signs of life … but Lawson figured that was probably for the best: the quieter the better. It meant there were no Jerrys out there, lurking. _

_Behind him, Angel had also returned to the control room - and was now locked in an argument with the vampire in the S.S jacket … the one Angel seemed to know so well. _

'_When do I get a turn?' Spike was whining. Angel sighed, 'in about never,' he answered. This was just … just classic Spike. The biggest pain in the ass Angel had ever had the misfortune to come across. If only Drusilla had just killed him, like she was supposed to, then Angel would have been saved … just so much irritation. Both now and back when he was evil. _

'_I'm playing nice with the anchovies, like you asked,' Spike said. He pointed to where O'Shea was steering. 'At least let me have a go on the wheel.' _

'_Pipe down - I'm trying to work,' Angel said to him, through gritted teeth. But that only made Spike snort with disgust. 'Oh "pipe down" that official sailor talk is it? Well ahoy there matey - you can just swab my deck.' He gave his two fingered salute once again. _

'_Spike -'_

'_Captain.'_

'_What?'_

'_I want to be called captain,' Spike said. He turned to look at the human crew and grinned at them maliciously. 'I mean - hell - I did eat him.' _

_Over at the comms station, Hodge got to his feet, angrily - but Lawson put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head; convincing the younger man to sit down - and not take on a fight he could not win. _

_Seeing the reaction Spike's words had had, Angel realised he needed to get the idiot out of there - before he caused a mutiny amongst the humans. He grabbed hold of the other vampire's collar and bundled him out of the chamber. 'Check the torpedoes, before I stuff you in a tube and send you for a swim, Captain.' _

_Once Spike had stumbled through the hatch, he turned back - and saw Lawson watching him. 'We gonna have a situation, sir?' _

_Angel shook his head, 'he'll do what I tell him.' _

'_Because you know each other - from before this, right?' It needed saying. There was something between these two vampires. Some reason Angel wasn't just killing this monster that had slaughtered most of the crew … and Lawson couldn't see how that was in keeping with the mission. _

_Folding his arms across his chest, Angel peered at the ensign. 'Something on your mind, son?' His tone suggested that he was not willing to discuss Spike, or his reasons for keeping him alive - again._

_Lawson shook his head, but he maintained eye contact. This was the navy, he couldn't just say what he wanted to a superior officer, but he knew how to get his point across without using so many words. 'I just want to make sure that this boat gets to where it's going. That - and my crew - are all that matters.' _

'_How are they holding up?' Angel asked him. Lawson shrugged. They had all known - when they had signed on - that capturing a Jerry sub might be a one way ticket. But they were good men, they could hold it together. Scared as they were, they could handle the thought of dying so long as it had a greater purpose. They would keep it together and follow orders - or they would answer to Lawson. _

'_Good,' Angel nodded, 'everybody keeps their cool - we might just make it out of this.' _

_His statement was immediately followed by a man screaming in terror from beyond the next hatchway. He rolled his eyes - timing - he didn't have it. 'Dammit!'_

* * *

Doyle was down in the apartment by himself. Cordelia was still upstairs. Though Doyle had made the initial contact, ringing Harri and outlining the problem - and their proposed solution - he had then handed the phone over to his girlfriend. She was much better at organising stuff than him, working out logistics and so on. She had always been the practical member of Angel Investigations, keeping the everyday side of the business afloat. She would do a much better job of working through what was needed and how to set it up than Doyle would. Besides … talking to Harri was still awkward. But his ex wife and his wife to be got along great - they were much better off figuring this out together without him trying to insert himself, getting in the way and making everything uncomfortable.

He had the little girl's shoe in front of him. He didn't know what maudlin impulse had made him take it with him … but here it was. Somehow he just hadn't been able to leave it behind. He supposed it was a symbol - an emblem - of all the lives that had been lost because of him, and all the lives he was trying to save. It was a reminder to keep on fighting, giving him a purpose and a reason to keep on going. The first little girl, this little girl, their families - all the families just like them - they were what mattered, they were the reason why defeating The Scourge mattered. They were everything that Doyle was trying to protect.

He stared down at the shoe and let out a deep breath. He was ready now. Ready to stop the killings, ready to protect innocent people from The Scourge. He had a plan - and was willing and able to see it through in order to save lives. This was it. This was his redemption right here - everything coming back full circle. The Scourge. The little girl. Everything that Doyle had been running from for so long - now he was ready to face it. He could save all the people the PTB wanted him to save … he just needed them to send a vision before a slaughter happened next time. He was ready. Now the ball was in the higher powers' court.

* * *

_Angel and Lawson rushed through the hatchway to find out what was going on. The Prince of Lies had the German trapped in a corner and was attacking him. 'What the hell are you doing?' Angel yelled. _

_The Prince of Lies had hold of some papers - a report - and he brandished this at the terrified German. 'You think I don't know?' he screeched in outrage, as the soldier cowered beneath him. 'I am as ancient as the dark itself.' _

'_Yeah - you're real old,' Angel agreed with him, raking disdainful eyes over the long white eyebrows and wrinkles of the ancient vampire. 'We know - just calm down.' _

_But the Prince of Lies brandished the report again and would not be calmed. 'They dare to conceive such violations against my temple.' He bore down on the German once again. 'The Prince of Lies is not a slab of meat to be set upon by insignificant maggots.' _

'_Put a sock in it,' he pulled the other vampire away, but the Prince of Lies roared out in anger and smacked Angel down, knocking him staggering backwards. Lawson pulled his gun and shot several times right at the ancient monster. The bullets hit - but had no impact - and The Prince of Lies roared out again and smacked Lawson down. Then he turned back to the terrified German. _

'_Nein! Bitte! Ich flehe dich an -' he was cut off by the gnarled hand of The Prince of Lies closing around his throat and squeezing. 'I will suck the brain from your skull and digest your thoughts like a sour pudding.' _

_Down on the floor, Angel grabbed the fire axe that had killed Nostroyev. He scrambled to his feet, rushed forward and plunged the wooden handle down through the Prince of Lies' back. The Prince of Lies exploded in a cloud of dust so dark it looked like smoke. Lawson and the rest of his crew, huddled in the doorway watching what was going on, stared on in uncomprehending disbelief. _

_The German grabbed hold of Angel's arm. 'Danke. Er haette mich sonnst ungebracht.' Angel thumped him, and he slumped back down. Then Angel turned back to the American crew. 'You OK?' he asked Lawson, helping him back to his feet. _

'_Nothing a year of shore leave won't fix.' _

'_He exploded!' Hodge said, unable to keep it any longer, his eyes still fixed on the point where the Prince of Lies had turned into dust. 'He stabbed him, and then he just exploded.'_

_Lawson turned back to his crew and ordered them back to their stations. It wasn't good to have them standing there - wondering what was going on like that. They needed direction and discipline, someone to take charge - now was not the time for them to start contemplating impossible things. But - even though he turned to leave, obeying the order, Hodge wasn't done wondering. 'How can a guy just explode like that?'_

'_Man's asking a good question,' Lawson said to Angel, holstering his gun - how a guy could survive four bullets to the chest was another question. And how a man could reach the submarine without a dive suit - that one had never been answered either. All these questions were fair, and now it was feeling like - navy or not - Lawson wanted answers before he carried on with the mission. _

'_You really need an answer?' Angel asked him._

'_Might help if I heard it for sure.' _

'_Vampire.' _

_Lawson shook his head, 'yeah, I take it back - doesn't help. What do you think set him off?' _

_Spike had arrived back from the torpedo room to see what was going on. He picked up the papers the Prince of Lies had been brandishing, whatever had upset the old git must be in them … but they were in German - and Spike was flummoxed. 'Anybody speak Nazi?' he flung them at the German soldier. 'Right let's have it.' He morphed into his vampire face. _

_The German looked terrified at the sight of Spike's face changing to become ridged and fanged and hideous. But he was still not willing to give up his Fuhrer's secrets. 'Dein Kleingeist wuerde unsere arbeit echt nicht vestehen.' _

'_How's that again, mate?'_

'_He says you're an idiot,' Lawson translated, and - even fighting on opposite sides of the war - he didn't disagree. 'Was sind das fuer papiere?' he asked, 'Ich werde ihn nicht aufhalten koenen. Was sind das fuer papiere?'_

_With a quick glance at Spike's snarling face, the German looked at Lawson and answered his question. 'Nachtforschungen.'_

_It was research - and a bit more questioning revealed it was a study into intra-brain stimulation and attempts to gain control over hostile sub-terrestrials. More specifically - gaining power over vampires. _

_Whilst this had sounded like nothing but a garbled Saxon mess to the monoglot Spike - he still managed to pick up the last word. 'What's that about vampires?' he growled. _

_Lawson grabbed the report and began to leaf through it. It was technical. But he understood enough to know that the Nazis had been experimenting on vampires, cutting into their brains. They were trying to create an army - out of things like Spike. _

_Spike nodded his head and looked over his shoulder at Angel. 'That explains why they nicked us. Cream of the crop. You wanna create an army of vampire slaves, start at the top … with the generals.'_

_Lawson wasn't listening to the vampire, though, he was staring at the German - anger etched into every line of his young face. 'It's not enough what you're already doing in the world is it? Only you and your Fuhrer could come up with something this sick.'_

_The German soldier began to laugh, a dark and hollow little laugh. It seemed he could understand enough English to get by - enough to understand what Lawson was yelling at him. 'Da sind wir nicht de einziden, mein junge…' We're not the only ones. Then he looked across at Angel, a sly smirk spreading across his face, 'nicht wahr?' _

'_Genug!' Angel shouted at him. Spike glanced around looking confused. 'Am I the only one here don't speak Kraut?' _

_Again, Lawson wasn't listening to Spike. This time it was Angel he was staring at in disbelief. 'You knew about this?' he was practically choking on his own rage. He had trusted this guy - and this whole time …_

'_It was a part of the mission,' Angel admitted, a little shamefaced. Sure, the Jerry sub was important - someone, somewhere would really get to town on stripping it down and finding out how it was the German's were so far ahead in their u-boat technology. But it wasn't the crux of the mission. It wasn't the reason Angel had been forcibly called up and sent to the bottom of the ocean. It wasn't what the man in black and his demon research initiative wanted. They could always steal another sub - but the research on board this one was what mattered. _

'_What mission?' Spike asked, then realisation hit him, 'oh - I get it you're working both sides.' He shrugged. 'I respect that. But if the Yanks are after this stuff too I'm eating the lot of them.' _

'_No you aren't.'_

'_Try and stop me,' he took a large stride towards Lawson, who pulled his gun - ready to defend himself. Angel shoved him backwards - they needed the humans, he wasn't going to get trapped at the bottom of the ocean. _

'_And I'm not being experimented on by his government!' Spike yelled angrily, thrusting a finger towards Lawson._

'_We wouldn't do that!' Lawson yelled back at him. 'You don't win a war by doing whatever it takes, you do it by doing what's right.' _

_But that only made Spike laugh. 'Yeah? Tell me how that works out for you, Popeye.'_

_Angel shook his head. Having heard the contents of the research he wasn't going to be a party of this, wasn't going to help the U.S government create a secret team of supersoldiers. If that was really their plan … well he could have told the man in black, back in New York, what a stupid idea it was. How it would never work. It would end in disaster, and innocent people would die - and he wasn't gonna be a party to it. That research was never gonna leave this boat - and the world would be a better place for that. He'd take the sub back to the American government, he'd give them what was left of the crew … but as for the research, 'torch it,' he said to Spike. _

_Spike pulled out his lighter, laughed in the face of the German frantically begging him not to do it - and lit up the paper. 'God save the King!' he sang as it burned, 'send him victorious, happy and glorious…' The fire licked up the paper and then spread onto his jacket sleeve. He quit singing, started cursing and dropped the remains of the research to the floor - stamping out the last of the fire. _

_A muffled bang sounded in the distance - like the noise of an explosion underwater. Lawson looked worried, 'what the hell was that?' He ran back to the control room to speak with his men. Angel and Spike followed after him, leaving what remained of the research - and the fragments of information it still contained - lying forgotten on the floor of the boat._

_..._

_There was another muffled explosion - and Lawson realised what it was 'depth chargers,' he said, and turned to Hodge asking him what he was getting. Hodge held the headset against his ear and listened in to the airwaves. He was getting 3 - no 4 destroyers. 4! They couldn't take on one in their current condition. _

_Lawson gave the order - and they dove the submarine, heading further beneath the water in an attempt at evasive manoeuvres. There was a tense moment - where nothing could be heard except the pings of the sonar trying to locate them and then … the whole boat rocked as the German destroyers got a hit. There was the sound of an explosion - much louder and closer this time - and the alarms began to go off and the warning lights to flash, This time they had caused damage. 'Report!' Lawson barked. _

'_Propulsion motor's down,' Tyler told him. 'We're dead in the water.' _

'_Go! Get it back up!' Angel commanded. But Lawson was looking worried. 'I'm not sure I can,' he admitted. _

'_Get sure, fast.'_

_Lawson nodded and ran to the engine rooms just as another explosion rocked the sub. 'We're taking on water,' Spinelli said, 'someone secure the other compartment. Now!'_

'_We're on it!' Angel grabbed Spike by the collar and bundled him through the hatchway. They found O'Shea trying to tighten a pipe coupling with a wrench. 'It's no good,' the sailor told them, straining to turn the wrench. 'Damn things stripped.'_

_Angel pushed him out of the way, grabbed hold of the leaking pipe and forced it back tighter into the coupling - shutting off the leak. 'Never … liked… the ocean,' he said between gritted teeth, as he strained. O'Shea just stared at this feat of superhuman strength, not sure what to think or to say. _

_Spike, however, was supremely unimpressed with Angel's strongman imitation - and instead had spotted another problem. 'Hey - where's Fritz?' he asked, looking around and realising the German had vanished._

* * *

Doyle heard the sound of Cordelia's footsteps on the stairs. 'It's all done,' she called down to him, 'Harri is ready to go as soon as we have some hopeless types that need saving. So all you need to do now is have a …'

He brought his hand up to his head, and was thrown backwards on the floor as the vision pain smashed into his skull and the images flickered through his mind.

* * *

_In the engine room, Lawson had set up his equipment and opened his shirt - this was hot work and he needed to get it down quickly. He mopped his brow with the back of his hand and then went back to trying to loosen a bolt. 'Come on, Sally,' he grunted, 'give it up.' He gave a deep breath of relief, as the bolt finally loosened. He put his wrench down and turned to pick up his screwdriver. It was missing from his tools. He frowned. 'Where the hell's the screwdriver?' _

_He got back to his feet and headed for the door - only to find the German standing the other side of it, the missing screw driver in his hand. The German ran at him and thrust the makeshift weapon into Lawson's gut, twisting it for maximum damage. _

_Lawson reached out behind himself, his hands clasped around his wrench and he used that to hit the German over the head. The German fell to the floor, and Lawson collapsed against the engines, grunting in pain and bleeding profusely._

* * *

His eyes grew dark as he remembered that moment of pain, as he thought about the exact moment it had all gone wrong. His defining moment. The moment that made him the man he was today. 'Funny what goes through your mind when your life is hanging in the balance,' he said to Angel. 'Boys talked a lot about that back on the boat. Always figured it would be the special moments that you freeze in time… you're mom singing you to sleep at night.' He stood in front of Gunn - and then glanced to the left of him to look up at Wesley. 'Sneaking into the movies with your best friend.' He turned right and stared up at Fred. 'the way your girl's hair shimmers in the sun.' Then he looked back at Angel. 'But the truth is - the only thing that goes through your head is … wow this really sucks.'

* * *

_Angel found Lawson bleeding out in the engine room. He stepped over the German and went to his side, helping him up. 'I'm all right,' Lawson gasped, and he began to choke. Angel held him still, supporting him, 'try not to move.'_

'_We're dead without propulsion,' Lawson said, coughing again - blood was starting to trickle from the corner of his mouth. _

'_Tell me what to do.'_

_But Lawson shook his head, 'I'm the only one … I'm the only one.' He coughed up more blood. 'I'm not gonna let any more die. I can fix it. I can fix it.'_

_Angel closed his eyes. 'I know you can,' he said - his voice was as heavy as his unbeating heart … then he morphed into his vamp face and bit down hard on Lawson's exposed neck._

_Lawson gasped as he felt the tear of his skin and then his blood being drained from him, but just as he was about to lose consciousness, Angel pulled away from him - sliced his wrist open on the sharp edges of the engine and then held it to Lawson's mouth… and Lawson drank._

* * *

The demon lair wasn't too far from the office, an abandoned building in a dodgy part of Downtown. From the outside, all looked quiet - the windows were boarded up, graffiti was sprayed across the wall. It looked like nobody had been here for a very long time. But that was often what demon lairs looked like. They liked them to look dilapidated, forgotten and run down - it made it less likely that humans would come looking around. But tonight - humans had an important reason to be there.

Doyle pulled up, parking the truck at the side of the road - and then he and Cordy got out of the cab and stealthily made their way towards the hideout. They entered the building through a garage - it's door wide open. It was filled with broken bits of furniture, an old mouldy sofa, a few rusted bikes - the demons who lived here must just use this place as a dump. There was a small window at the far end, and the street lamp outside threw its orange light into the space - but other than that the place was in darkness.

There was an internal door, which led up into the building and - on finding it locked - Cordy applied her superstrength and broke her way through. They tiptoed inside. The hallway was just as dark and gloomy as the garage had been, the floorboards were dusty and wallpaper was hanging from the walls in long ragged strips.

'Are you sure the demons who live here are safe?' Cordelia hissed.

Doyle nodded. 'They're not dangerous,' he agreed, 'Frona demons. Completely harmless. But they're hardly safe - that's why we're here.'

'So where are they?'

'Probably round the back, c'mon.' He led her deeper into the building - treading softly, trying not to make the old and rotten floorboards creak beneath their weight. Cautiously, he pushed a door at the far end of the hall opened - and then froze when he heard the sound of the safety being clicked off. And then there was a crossbow being pointed directly in both their faces. They put their hands up - but the owner of the crossbow did not lower it. 'And what exactly are two humans doing here?'


	53. Why We Fight: Part Four

_Part Four_

_What was left of the crew sat slumped on the floor, overly hot and exhausted. Spike eyed them up, hungrily. 'Air's about gone,' he remarked to Angel, 'your new boy had better get those engines up and running before the fish start flopping.' _

'_He'll get it done.' _

'_Hope it's in time.' He nodded towards Hodge. 'That one on the end looks like he's done for. Be a blessing to put him out of his misery.' Beneath their feet, the floor began to rumble as the engines fired up._

'_Get them to their feet,' Angel told Spike, 'we need to surface,' and then he headed off to the engine room, his heart still heavy at the thought of what he was about to find there._

_..._

_Lawson was inside - back on his feet - seemingly whole and healthy, and putting his shirt back on. 'You did it,' Angel said. _

'_Told you I could,' his tone was cheerful._

'_Good work.'_

'_Thanks ...chief. You too.' He looked up as he heard the noise the sub had started to make, 'we're surfacing. Is that a sharp manoeuvre, with the Jerry's still trolling for us?' _

_Angel shrugged - the sub was out of air, staying below wasn't an option. The crew wouldn't make it if they didn't vent._

'_They swore to give their lives for their country … just like me. Besides, I'm hungry.'_

'_They're still your men.'_

'_But they're not the mission - are they?' He changed to his vamp face, for the first time - his clean cut, apple pie, stars and stripes, wholesome face turning into the ridged and fanged face of a monster - and he threw a punch at his sire. _

_But Angel caught the punch and twisted his arm behind him, turning Lawson so he was facing away. 'You're new at this, I'm not,' he warned the brand new vampire. Then he let go of him. 'Let's take a walk.'_

* * *

Doyle swallowed and stared into the face of the angry Frona demon. It was just a kid by the looks of it - about 17 or so, with piercings in its pointed pink ears and the tufts of its black hair spiked up like a mohawk. But it had the righteous anger that so many young demons had, the anger Rief had always demonstrated, the anger even Doyle recognised - of living in a world that didn't recognise your existence, of being pushed to the margins by a sentient group of mammals that didn't even know you were there.

'Your kind comes round here … fair game, just more vittles for the cooking pot.'

'Look, kid,' Doyle said, he titled his head to one side and kept his voice kind. 'We know Fronas don't eat people - so y' can't scare us. And my girlfriend,' - he waved a hand towards Cordelia, 'she could take that crossbow right out of y' hand if she wanted to. We need to speak to whoever's in charge here. It's urgent.'

But the kid just jabbed the crossbow at them. 'We don't take orders from homo sapiens. Not here.'

There was the sound of footsteps behind them, and then a much deeper voice asked, 'what have you got here, Eshrikigal?'

'Two humans - thought they could just break in and start making demands. Shall I smoke 'em?'

'Turn around, humans,' the voice said. Doyle and Cordy turned - with uneasy backwards glances at the crossbow now pointing at their backs. A middle aged Frona demon stood in front of them. He had the same pink skin, pointed ears and tufty hair as Eshrikigal - though he didn't have the same punk aesthetic going on. Instead he was wearing a plaid shirt and a pair of slacks. Not very menacing. He was obviously hoping to frighten them just by dint of being a demon … he had no idea who he was dealing with. 'What do you think you are doing here?'

Cordelia and Doyle glanced at each other, they hadn't exactly expected a warm welcome, but these demons were actively hostile. 'Look - I know y' don't want us here,' Doyle said, 'but - see - I get these visions, from the Powers That Be; great skull cracking migraines that come with pictures. They tell me when people are in trouble and - uh - well, you guys are in trouble. We're here to help.'

The Frona elder folded his arms. 'We do not need _your_ help.'

'Oh - I think y' might on this one, bud.'

'The Scourge are coming!' Cordelia blurted out. 'We need to not be here when they arrive.'

But the demon elder only scoffed. 'The Scourge aren't real! They're a fairy tale, a children's story to frighten demons into playing nice and keeping their heads down. They're a metaphor for what would happen to us if the humans ever found out we existed.' He looked scornful. 'The only scourge here is you - and your whole species.'

'No - they're real we've seen them. We've fought them. Prophecies have been written about them by other demons - we've read them. We've studied their history. They're real, buster, and they're headed this way and if you don't believe us…' Cordelia trailed off. She knew full well what would happen if the Frona refused to listen to them, but she wasn't all too keen on spelling it out whilst the kid was still pointing a crossbow at them.

'You must have heard all the stories of demons disappearin', turnin' up dead - it's been goin' on for months now.'

'We heard an entire army of slayers walks the earth now. I've heard there's at least one right here in town. Dead demons do not come as a surprise. But it is human girls killing them - not a mythical legion of monsters.'

'It's not _me!_' Cordelia cried, outraged at the accusation. 'I've been cleaning up the mess, investigating the deaths. _Hello! _I'm here to get you out _right now_. If I wanted you dead, buddy, I could have slaughtered your entire family before they even realised I was in the house. I'm trying to stop the slaughter.'

'Uh - yeah - Cordelia's a slayer,' Doyle admitted. 'And I'm a seer and helpin' people in trouble and fightin' the forces of evil is what we do. We're not the ones behind the deaths, but we are the ones tryin' to stop 'em. Look, man, if The Scourge gets here before you leave - they will massacre every last one o' you. And … it won't even be their first massacre of the night. They killed another family, down by the docks, a few hours back…' he went quiet as he remembered the little girl. 'Please get your family outta here,' he said softly.

The demon stared at them - his arms still folded across his chest and his expression closed and indecipherable … the young couple didn't know whether he believed them or not - or if he was about to give Erishikigal the order to shoot. The tense moment lengthened - and Doyle held his breath, not wanting to say anything in case their pleas had been working, and further talking would only ruin it.

The Silence was broken by the sound of footsteps making their way through the garage. Cordelia whirled around in alarm, fearing they were already too late… but there was only one set of footsteps - and it was the soft, brisk tread of sneakers … not the heavy clump of jackboots.

'Francis?' Harri appeared in the hallway. Her ex husband looked relieved to see her. 'Hey, Harri - we were just tellin' the Frona they needed to get outta here but … no luck.'

Harri walked her way towards the group. She smiled softly at Erishikigal and then put out her hand and lowered his crossbow. 'There's no need for that,' she told him, he seemed to accept her word - nodding and taking a step back. Then she turned to the demon elder. 'Harsgeriad, you know I wouldn't come here if it wasn't necessary - but if my former husband says you're in danger then you're in danger. I need you to listen to him and then I'm here to help you and your family get out.'

* * *

_The Submarine broke the surface, slicing through the waves and coming up into the night air. Spinelli climbed the ladder and opened the hatch, taking a moment to revel in the sudden blast of fresh oxygen to his lungs, and then reluctantly climbed back down. _

_Angel led Lawson into the chamber. The new vampire stared around at his former crew, who stared back at him - unnerved and unsettled. This thing looked like Lawson, their Lawson, but the way he was looking at them … it wasn't him. Not anymore. Their Lawson was dead - and a monster now walked around in his skin. _

'_They look smaller,' Lawson said. Angel ignored him - and walked him over to the ladder. '8 hours until sunrise,' he told him. '20 miles from land.'_

'_I might just make it.'_

'_I'm sorry for what happened - but if I ever see you again … I'm gonna have to kill you.'_

_Lawson nodded, 'aye aye, chief' - and then looked around at the boat he had given his life for, and the crew that had meant so much to him. All that seemed so distant now. Everything that had ever mattered was lost to him, everything that had ever seemed important was rendered meaningless. He climbed the ladder and disappeared from view._

_Spike snorted. 'Bloody brilliant. Turn the poor sod to save the ship and then make him dash for dry land before Mr. Sunshine scorches him a new one … you're still a dick.' _

_Unsmiling, Angel crossed his arms and nodded his head, 'yeah I am.' He took a step back, clearing the path to the ladder and glared at Spike meaningfully._

_Spike sighed with exasperated disgust, rolling his eyes. 'Bollocks.' Then he too climbed the ladder and disappeared from view._

* * *

The Frona demons had listened to Harri, where they had refused to listen to Doyle and Cordy. She - and all her work at her demons' rights organisation - was known to them, and it seemed she was the one human they had any respect for. There were 12 of them living in the squat in total; a pair of elderly grandparents, two middle aged couples and six kids - of which the eldest was Erishkigal and the youngest was about 6. They didn't have much in the way of belongings, demons never did, but the humans set about helping them pack up - as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Harri had hired a truck - just like the team had done so long ago, that first night with The Scourge - and she was planning to use it to transport them out of L.A. 'I know a safe house I can get you to up in Washington,' she explained to Harsgeriad and his wife. 'From there we can work out a way to smuggle you out of the States and over the border.'

'We have family in Alberta,' the demon elder explained to Doyle, 'we can be safe there … though it's hard to have to go cap in hand to relatives who are struggling themselves.'

Doyle smiled wryly, he finished packing up the crate of belongings he was filling and then straightened up. 'It's not forever,' he said, 'me and Cordy - we will stop The Scourge, and then you can come on back, cap firmly back on y' head… but for now... Well, it's better to be safe than…' he whistled, '...dead.'

...

Over at the other side of the room, Cordelia was helping one of the middle aged women get the younger children ready. 'It's like going on a big adventure,' she said to the youngest, helping him on with his coat - her smile was her biggest and brightest. 'You'll ride in a truck - all the way to a brand new country - and there'll be snow and you can build snowmen and see your family and then … you'll be back before you know it.' She stood up and held out her hand, leading two of the little ones out of the building and towards the truck.

'I know it might look a bit scary,' she said, as she lifted them in, 'but look,' she scrambled up into the back of the van and showed them what she had done there, 'I made a whole big nest of all your blankets so you can just snuggle down here, super cosy - you can sleep most of the way. And there's flashlights in case you wanna read - and your mom's packed up some food. And then this time tomorrow - you'll be in Washington.'

She settled the kids down and then went to help the elderly grandparents up into the truck. Then she jumped down, checked her watch and frowned. 'Is there something wrong?' She looked up, Erishikigal was standing there, his crossbow still in one hand, his other holding onto the backpack filled with his belongings.

'I just don't know how long we have - the others need to hurry up … The Scourge could be here any minute, we need to find a way to delay them.' She looked at the teenager appraisingly, 'dump your stuff and come with me.'

He followed her over to her pickup, where she climbed up into the bed and started to sort through the things they kept there. The pickup was the vehicle they took with them whenever there was a job to clean up or bodies to move, and the back of it was usually stashed with supplies for any kind of emergency.

She found what she was looking for and jumped back down, Erishikigal looked at what she was carrying and looked surprised, 'for real?'

She nodded, 'you got a lighter?' It was his turn to nod and he handed it over. She pocketed it, if it came to it - this would prove vital later. They headed into the garage and set to work, and once they were done they headed back into the building via the internal door.

'We need to barricade this,' Cordelia said, 'if nothing else it will slow the Scourge down - give the truck an extra few minutes to put some distance between you and them. They won't be able to follow you once you're on the move.' Together, she and the young demon boy began to shove furniture up against the door.

'What are y' doin'?' Doyle asked, appearing behind them.

'Blocking this entrance,' Cordelia told him. 'Every second counts when you're fleeing The Scourge.'

'Right good thi…' he suddenly stumbled backwards, crashed into the opposite wall and fell to the floor, as he felt the searing pain of a vision migraine cut into his skull. And he saw flashes … jackboots pounding the pavement, the gleam of the silver on their uniforms, their diseased skin … and above all else he felt … fear. And panic. And the sense of just how close they were.

He pushed himself upright, still gasping with the pain. 'They're on their way,' he said slowly. 'They're nearly here … we need to move.'

* * *

'Did they at least torture you?' Lawson asked. He paced up and down in front of the strung up team, but was glaring angrily at Angel the whole time. 'Please tell me they did.'

But Angel shook his head, almost imperceptibly - and kept his eyes fixed on the pacing vampire, ensuring he did nothing more to endanger his team. 'Never gave them the chance. Jumped ship off the coast of Maine. Went underground until the war was over.'

'Like any other coward.'

But Angel only shrugged. Wars were fought between men - vampires had no business being in them, no place in them. If the supernatural intervened with the natural order - or was dragged in against its will - then that's when things went bad. Lawson being a case in point. 'I never wanted to do this to you,' Angel said. And he meant it. He hadn't wanted to join up, he hadn't wanted to be on that sub and he hadn't wanted to have to make life and death decisions for a bunch of scared boys. It wasn't his place. And the decisions he had been forced to make still weighed heavy on him - as every death did.

'Oh put your hanky away,' Lawson snapped. 'I know how important the technology they pulled from the sub was to help us stop the Germans. Sounded like a fair shake. One person damned to make the world safe for future generations.' He glanced back at the team - tied and bound on their chairs - and then he smiled at Angel. 'Except these guys.'

Angel didn't allow himself to react. 'Killing them's not gonna change the past.'

'But it'll hurt you - maybe that's enough.'

'Never is.'

Lawson nodded thoughtfully, then maybe he had found his mission again. That's all he'd ever been looking for - a reason to live. A purpose. He had that once upon a time. The small things in life; apple pie, the cub scout code, truth, justice and the American way … it had all been enough for him. Until the day he met Angel. Then it didn't mean anything at all to him anymore. He was a creature of the night - and he embraced his new reality. Did all the terrible things a monster was supposed to do … but it meant nothing. Through it all - through every atrocity - he felt nothing. 60 years of blood drying in his throat like ashes. 'So what do you think huh, chief?' he asked. 'Is it me? Or does everyone you sired feel this way?'

'You're the only one I did this to … after I got a soul.'

The other vampire considered this. His eyes were dark, his expression was strained, as if repressing some great emotion. 'Do I have one too?' he asked, and his voice trembled just a little.

Angel looked away, 'I don't think it works that way, son,' he said sadly.

'Didn't think so,' his fist suddenly struck out from nowhere.

* * *

'Lock the doors - the Scourge is here, we shovin' off,' Doyle yelled, tumbling out of the building and onto the sidewalk, where Harri was loading up the last of the family and their belongings. There was an immediate outcry from the family, the little ones beginning to wail in fright - and the demon elders desperately trying to get everyone into the back and settled.

Cordelia gave Erishikigal a boost and, once he was inside, Harri slammed the back door of the truck, locking it in place. She turned to her ex husband, her eyes wide and worried. 'How far away?'

'About a block - maybe two.'

'If they see the truck … they'll know. They'll follow us. We can't outrun them all the way to Washington.'

'They won't see the truck,' he morphed into his demon face '- get goin'.'

She nodded and ran around to the driver's side, clambering in. There was a moment's pause, and then the engine roared into life, the lights came on - and the truck squealed away from the roadside.

'Do you know what you're doing?' Cordelia asked, as it disappeared round the nearest corner. They could hear the rhythmic thuds of the jackboots coming towards them by now; the terrifying pounding that signalled only death. The ground began to tremble beneath their feet.

Doyle nodded. 'I know … be ready.' And he left his girlfriend's side and - with his heart frantically banging against his rib cage and his legs shaking beneath him, he took a deep breath and walked towards the oncoming soldiers.

* * *

Angel kicked out, launching the other vampire across the room. Lawson teetered as he regained his balance, only an inch away from knocking over Fred. he glanced back at her and then grinned at Angel. 'Nearly.' Then he dove forward again - lashing out at Angel once more.

'You gave me just enough, didn't you?' he cried out. 'Enough of your soul to keep me trapped between who I was and who I should be. I'm nothing … because of you.' He threw himself towards Angel, but Angel caught him and launched him through the glass window pane of the conference room and out into the lobby.

Lawson landed on the floor amongst the fragments of broken glass and splintered wood of the frame. Angel stepped through the smashed window. Lawson grabbed at a splinter and got back to his feet, wielding his makeshift stake. He reared back with it, ready to plunge it deep into Angel's chest, but Angel grabbed his wrist. There was a moment of struggle - as two opposing forces met and cancelled each other out - and then Angel was able to turn the stake in Lawson's hand and force it towards his chest.

The younger vampire looked down at the fragment of wood nearing his heart - saw the end of the game. He looked up into his sire's eyes. 'Come on, chief, give me a mission.' And then he stopped struggling, and Angel rammed the stake home. Lawson exploded in a cloud of dust. Just like Nostroyev. Just like the Prince of Lies. Just like they all did … in the end.

* * *

His heart felt like it was about to explode inside his chest, but he forced one leaden front of the other, making his way through the alleys towards where he could hear the footfalls of the pure blood army.

He reached the end of the alleyway and peered around into the open road. From the way the earth shook, and loose rocks bounced across the ground, he knew they would be visible in a matter of moments. He wasn't even breathing as he waited, and he was deafened by the sound of blood pounding in his ears.

But then the moment came - The first of the soldiers came into view - and Doyle ran out from his hiding place. He collided with the first soldier, shoving it away from himself and then turned and fled - allowing the light of the streetlamps to fall onto his green skin and spikes, making sure The Scourge recognised him as a target. 'There's one!' he heard the troops cry, 'after it!'

He ran, fleeing down the next alley way, winding and wending his way away from the main road, to make sure that the truck had time to drive away to freedom without being seen. He scrambled over a wire fence blocking the end of one alley and jumped down, running down the next - back the way he had come - back to Cordelia. Behind him, he heard the soldiers just run the fence down, trampling it under their thunderous jackboots.

His lungs felt like they were going to explode now, as well, and all his limbs were shaking like jelly under the exertion - but he kept on running, not daring to even take the time to glance back and see how close behind they were. He sent a silent prayer up to The Powers that he would reach Cordelia before he was caught.

And then he was out of the alley and back on the main road. The Fronas abandoned home was just ahead of him. There was no sign of Cordy, but he knew she must be close, must be able to see him. He put on another burst of speed … but was then brought crashing to the ground as a foot soldier of The Scourge caught up with him.

Without even thinking, he rolled over and launched himself upwards, headbutting the demon - goring it with his spikes. The demon recoiled and Doyle kicked at it and then scrambled out from under it's bulk - running on once more. They were right behind him, the one he had injured was back on its feet and its comrades were over taking it. He ran.

Just … a few more steps … just … it was right there. His heart banged furiously inside of him, battering against his insides … just … a little further … He ran inside the garage. All the broken and abandoned furniture had been left behind, still piled up. There was a sharp, tangy smell in the air; familiar, not completely unpleasant - but it made his head hurt - and a streak of something wet trickled out all the way towards the door. He ran through the garage, the boots only mere steps behind him now. As he reached the far side of the space, he took one great breath and then launched himself forwards and upwards, tucking himself into a ball as he flew through the air. He smashed his way through the small window and then fell through the night sky, surrounded by the falling fragments of glass - and then landed hard on the asphalt outside.

Cordelia had watched his progress from the garage roof. Hidden in the shadows, she waited until the last soldier of The Scourge was inside - then she listened for it - the sound of the glass smashing: Doyle was out.

She jumped to the ground, flicked Erishkigal's lighter open and then dropped it into the streak of wet that she had left trickling all the way to the door. The gasoline lit up at once - and followed the path she had poured earlier - all the way up to the petroleum soaked and abandoned furniture. There was a wooshing sound as it all took light, a cry of alarm from The Scourge - and then she slammed the garage door shut, trapping them inside with the fire.

...

Doyle was waiting for her by the truck, when she got back to it. He was breathing heavily, and looked shaken … but he was all in one piece. Behind them, they could hear the frantic banging of The Scourge Soldiers against the garage door as they tried to escape the flames. 'You OK?' Cordelia asked.

He nodded - but was too exhausted to speak.

* * *

After he'd freed his team and told them to go home for the night, Angel headed back up to his penthouse. The living room was now in disarray from his fight, his coffee table smashed into matchsticks and all his papers strewn across the floor.

Lawson had come here looking to die, he knew that much - had come here because he wanted the man who had made him to be the one who killed him. Because maybe that would give it all some meaning, some purpose. Sixty years without a reason to go on living had weighed him down until he just didn't want it anymore.

Angel got that. Just these few months at Wolfram and Hart - without purpose, without reason, without hope - had been enough to grind him down, crush him into a powdered nothing, unable to keep fighting. But all that had changed - and he had a reason again.

He paused to look at the papers he had just picked up, the client files of some of the higher tier demons the firm represented. The Circle of the Black Thorn. He needed to find it and destroy it. Lawson may have had no reason to live, but Angel did - his purpose was to bring this whole law firm down from the inside. And the Senior Partners wouldn't even see it coming.

But it was a dangerous job, and if they ever did suspect, then The Senior Partners would kill him, his team, his son. They had already made one attempt on his life. He had to do everything he could to protect the people he cared about. Had to distance himself from them, hide his true purpose - and start acting like the company man. Otherwise he would be stopped before he had even begun.

There was a knock at the door. 'Angel,' he heard Wesley say.

He didn't even look around. 'I thought I told you to go home.' His voice was curt.

There was a slight pause, he imagined Wesley frowning at this uncharacteristic response. 'I just thought I'd check you were alright - after tonight's events.'

'I'm fine.'

'After all these years - Lawson showing up out of the blue like that …'

'Wesley, I said I'm fine.'

'Alright - I'll leave you to it,' there was the sound of footsteps as the watcher withdrew from the doorway - but then the sound stopped. 'Angel? What do you think Lawson was looking for?'

Angel looked down at the papers in his hand, at the research that was driving him onward - giving him meaning. He knew all too well what it was Lawson had wanted: 'A reason.'

* * *

Back at home, Doyle collapsed on the sofa as soon as he had staggered in. Cordelia switched on the coffee maker. She glanced across at him - silent and exhausted, there were dark smudges under his eyes and he was still breathing rapidly - and once his coffee was made, she poured a slug of whisky into it before handing it across.

'Thanks Princess.'

'So - we finally did it. We finally rescued someone from under the nose of The Scourge.'

His pale face lit up in a wan smile, 'yeah - I guess we did.'

'We did good today.'

'Yeah.'

'_You_ did good today. We made our first real move - and it went in our favour. And even if those soldier guys manage to get out of that burning building …'

'They'll get out,' Doyle interrupted her. 'No way are they that easy to kill. And once they're free, they'll know that there's someone out there helpin' the demons escape them. Next time … next time it'll be harder.' He took a drink of his coffee, and grimaced at the unexpected sourness of the whisky. 'I guess I must have done good,' he remarked, raising an eyebrow, 'if you're voluntarily givin' me alcohol.'

'Well, I think you both deserve and need it right now.'

He nodded and took another drink, 'amen to that. But we're gonna need more - in the comin' months - than just a jerry can of gas and a lighter. We've still a long way to go, darlin'. We won the battle tonight, but we've barely started fightin' the war.'

* * *

**A/N next episode is Smile Time. I'm sure you all know it is both a very famous and much beloved episode of the show - and appears in most people's top 10 if not top 5 lists of best Angel episodes but ... it's also the episode that translates least well to a written format. Because there is no possible combination of words in the English language that can accurately describe just how freaking hilarious that puppet is to look at. So I'm going to need you to a) moderate your expectations _for_ and b) bring your visualisation A game _to_ this next episode. Otherwise it will be a big fat raspberry. See you on Friday. **


	54. Smile Time: Part One

**Smile Time**

_Part One_

'_In our secret backyard we can make the day more fun and less hard...' _Connor laughed with pleasure as the theme song came on, and tried to sing along with it: '_no moe fowning, 'ts get learning - ABC n 123s…' _

The early morning sunshine shone through the apartment. In the background, the little boy could hear his dad getting his breakfast ready and grumbling about the T.V being on. But he couldn't do anything about it, Connor had just learned how the remote worked and he was already much better with it than the grouchy vampire. And now the little boy could watch whatever he wanted - and he liked the singing puppets best of all.

...

'_Everything from words to weather - we'll discover it together…' _across town, in a much poorer neighbourhood, another little boy sat watching the exact same show. He was still wearing his pajamas and was lying on the couch, a thermometer stuck in his mouth - he was sick, and had been getting sicker for days. '_Time to strap your thinking cap on, thinking things are gonna happen...'_

His mom was already dressed in her waitresses uniform and was pacing up and down beside him, talking on the phone to grandma: 'he's sick - yeah he's running a fever.' She took the thermometer from his mouth and checked the temperature. 'Well what am I supposed to do? My shift starts in half an hour…'

'_Every day's a new beginning, all your friends are here and grinning 'cause it's Smile Time…'_

'No, Ma - I can't.' She paced away from the T.V, headed into the little kitchen.

'_That's right - you're on Smile Time … In our secret backyard we can make the day more fun and less hard …'_

As his mom walked away, the little boy watched as Polo, the red headed puppet, detached from the singing group and came right up to the screen - as if to peer out of it. It's little felt hands looked like they were touching the inside of the glass. 'Oh good, she's gone!' Polo said. The rest of the puppets carried on singing behind him. 'OK, Tommy, you know what to do.'

The little boy shook his head. He didn't want to - he'd done it before and that was when he started getting sick. 'Tommy, you should never break a promise,' Polo told him earnestly. 'You don't wanna be a bad apple do you? Come on, you know Smile Time isn't free.' But Tommy still refused to move, and now Polo's little felt brows furrowed angrily. 'Now get over here and touch the screen,' he yelled.

Reluctantly, Tommy got to his feet and stumbled his way towards the television. 'That's it Tommy, come on, touch the screen,' Polo encouraged - his voice friendly again now the boy was on his feet.

Tommy reached out and placed both palms onto the glass. There was an immediate purplish glow which emanated from beneath his hands … and Tommy, already unsteady, began to wobble. He felt weaker and weaker - and more feverish - as the purple light glowed brighter and brighter.

And Polo could feel it too - but rather than making him weaker, it was making him stronger. 'Yeah that's it - come on!' he cried out, 'good boy, Tommy.'

Tommy's eyes rolled back in his head - and he collapsed onto the floor, breaking contact with the screen. Polo gasped and ran back to continue singing with the other puppets.

Mom came back in, 'OK Tommy, grandma's gonna be here in a few hours. Listen - I don't want you watching this crap all day…' She came to a dead stop. Tommy was lying in front of the television, seemingly unconscious and frozen rigid. But his eyes were open and his face was lit up in an impossibly wide and deeply creepy smile.

...

'_Cause it's Smile Time. That's right! You're on Smile Time.' _Angel came into the living room with a bowl of cereal for Connor just as the theme tune finished. 'I don't want you watching this crap,' he said, and picked up the remote - making the T.V go blank. Connor started to cry.

* * *

Fred peered down her microscope at the specimen under the slide, hoping she could make a breakthrough in the pathology of the case she was dealing with. So far no luck - but it was getting urgent.

Knox came down the stairs from her office and handed her a load of papers. 'Couriers brought these in,' he told her, 'looks medical.'

'Oh, right, good.' This was what she had been waiting for, maybe this would shine a light on her problem. She began to flip through the reports. 'So what you got?' Knox asked her, conversationally.

'Mini epidemic here in L.A. 11 children between the ages of 5 and 8 hospitalised due to collapse in the last three weeks. None of them have woken up. I'm working under the assumption that this thing is mystical in nature.'

'Why's that?'

She lifted a photo out of the reports and showed it to him. The picture showed a little girl in a hospital bed - her arms held rigid above her head and her mouth frozen in an eerie, rictus grin. She slipped it back into its place and rifled through some more of the papers … pausing when she came to a valentine's card that had been placed in between the pages. She opened it up - and then turned to look at Knox, who smiled at her sheepishly. 'I know Valentine's was last week but ...um - I didn't take the discount on the card.'

'Thanks - um…' she looked uncomfortable. 'We talked about this.'

'I was thinking maybe we could talk about it again.'

She shook her head. She had made up her mind and already let him down gently. The discussion was closed - but now he was making things awkward. And she didn't want things to be awkward … She wanted the problem to go away. She handed him the reports and the card and some vials of blood. 'Sorry - you have work to do.'

'I do,' he nodded, looked at her sadly - and then backed away.

* * *

The elevator door opened and Nina stepped out, looking around the lobby hopefully. She had dressed up for the occasion, she had been looking forward to it since she was last here - she didn't want to miss... Sure enough, she saw Angel come walking down the stairs, his nose buried in a file. 'Um, hey!' she called.

He looked up, smiled and bounded down the last of the stairs when he saw her. 'Hey! You back for the Wolfram and Hart bed and breakfast?'

'Full moon cycle starts tonight.' She checked her watch, 'in 38 minutes actually.' They began to walk through the lobby. Harmony got to her feet, as they passed. 'Hey there, Nina, we've got your suite ready.'

'It's OK Harmony, I'll take her.' Harmony sat back down and Angel steered Nina in the right direction.

As they walked off, Gunn appeared at the front desk. 'Harmony, did you get a receipt from the county clerk on that filing I did for the Wayburn case?'

She thought about it - and then her expression cleared as she remembered. 'Oh yeah! Clerk's office called - said you filed the wrong papers.'

'_What?'_

'Yeah.' She glanced down at her notepad. 'You sent them a motion to change venue rather than a motion to dismiss. Unless you meant to do that. Some kind of sneaky lawyer trick to keep 'em guessing. That it?'

'Uh yeah - keep 'em on their toes.' He walked away, but his expression was deeply worried.

...

Angel opened the door to the basement room and ushered Nina towards the cage. 'Seems like you're getting used to the routine though.'

'Yeah,' she walked in the cage and turned round to face him. 'In a weird way I'm starting to like it. These stayovers, I mean. Not the going all hairy part. But I don't know - coming here … there's always something interesting going on.' She dipped her head and looked up at him coyly. 'And getting to see you. I look forward to that - you - all month, actually.'

Angel flushed and looked around, not wanting to meet her eyes. 'I - I should probably close this,' he stuttered, slamming the cage door in her face. She took a step back. 'Insurance thing,' he explained, 'OK - um - bye,' and flustered, he turned tail and tried to flee out of the room.

'Anyway I was thinking,' she called out after him - before he could leave. He froze at the door and looked back, reluctantly. 'I mean - what are you doing for breakfast tomorrow?'

'Oh you know…' he shifted awkwardly, 'drinking blood.' He chuckled - but it was uncomfortable.

Nina nodded, sensing the rejection, 'right, yeah,' she said sounding disappointed.

'Uh - see ya,' and he slammed the door and ran away.

* * *

Spike smacked the vampire a hard right cross, it staggered back a couple of paces and tumbled into a stack of cardboard boxes. They flew in every direction - and by the time it had flipped back to its feet, Spike was already on top of it, and seized it by it's throat, slamming it against the wall and raising his stake.

'Wait,' the vampire cried out, 'you don't wanna do that.'

'Oh I'm pretty sure I wanna do that. Lemme spell it out for you. You're the bad guy, I'm the hero. 'Do that' is what I do.'

But the vampire chuckled. 'I'm connected,' it told him, 'you ever heard of Wolfram and Hart?'

'Evil law firm headed up by a Nancy Boy CEO who wears too much hair gel? - yeah I know 'em.'

'Then you know you don't wanna be crossing their path. I work for 'em. If you kill me …' he left the sentence dangling.

Spike squeezed the vampire's throat harder, 'if I kill you what?'

'Then you're in for a whole world of trouble.'

He shrugged, 'trouble's where I live.' He reared the stake back and plunged it deep into the vampire's heart. 'But I'll send the Nancy Boy your regards.'

* * *

'She invited me to breakfast,' Angel said heavily. He was leaning on the edge of Wes' desk, his arms folded tightly across his chest and his brow lowered as far as it would go. Wesley worked away behind him, looking through papers. 'Breakfast,' he nodded, 'how did you respond?'

'Well … of course … I … um … ignored it completely, changed the subject and locked her in a cage.'

'Sorry - _what?_'

He turned to look at his friend - surprised he even had to explain it. 'Wes, it wasn't just breakfast - You know - it was… _breakfast_. I mean here we had this very good, very platonic thing going on and then all of a sudden out of the blue…'

'Are you blind?' Wesley interrupted his self-involved rambling. Angel looked up in shock, and began to shift uncomfortably as Wesley explained the concept of signals to him. Odourless, invisible - but unmistakable , and apparently Nina had been casting them Angel's way for months.

Angel shook his head, 'no - I would have noticed.'

'This isn't just from me. This is coming from people who know. This comes from _the ladies_.'

'The ladies?'

'Fred, Harmony, the girls in transcription… as Harmony put it: Why else would a chick who's coming to spend three nights in a jail cell dress like it's her first date?'

Angel stared at Wesley in panic. 'Oh god - the ladies are right.' He slumped into a chair, still panicking. 'Right now Nina's down there, turning into a werewolf and _liking me!_' He turned back to Wesley for support. He didn't … he couldn't … he had no time for that kind of … he had no right to … they all knew what would happen if…

Wesley shook his head, 'if what? You achieve a moment of perfect happiness?'

'I turn back into Angelus again - we don't want that.'

But Wesley snorted with derision. 99.9999 ad infinitum per cent of the best couples in the recorded history of the world had had to make do with _acceptable_ happiness. Angel had no business hiding behind his gypsy curse when there was a beautiful, engaging … admittedly sometimes hirsute young woman who actually wanted him.

'Wes, it's not gonna happen.'

'Why?'

He stood up to make his point. '_Because!_ I'm not that guy. That guy is charming and funny and … emotionally useful. I'm the guy in the dark corner with a blood habit and 200 years of psychic baggage.'

'Get over it!' Wesley yelled at him.

Angel looked injured, 'Why are you yelling at me?'

'Because!' he sighed and moderated his tone. 'Angel - if there's a woman out there … who you find truly attractive, who you think about let's say, most of the time. Who represents even part of what you think makes the world worth fighting for and who doesn't view you as an entirely sexless shoulder to lean on … you have to do something about it.' His voice trembled as he spoke.

Angel frowned. As self involved and emotionally unavailable as he had a tendency to be - even he could see what was going on here. Even he could tell that the subtext was rapidly becoming text. 'Who are we talking about here?'

'Fred…' Wesley was now staring past Angel, looking towards the door. Angel turned, Fred was standing there - she came in, clutching a report. 'Hey guys - I think we have a case.' She explained her epidemic to them - and all the work she had already done to rule out this being a physiological illness. She was sure it was a mystical one.

Angel took the report from her and began to flip through, 'T.V,' he said absently. The other two turned to look at him, confused. 'Parents said all the kids collapsed between 7 and … looks like 7:30 AM. And all of them in front of the T.V.'

'Huh that could be something. But I'd still like to get a handle on the pathology.'

But Angel was off - she should do that, he'd chase up this lead. He'd clear his schedule. These kids needed saving … and he disappeared through the door.

She turned back to Wes, 'wow - he really jumped on that one.'

The watcher smiled - and explained. Angel had just discovered Nina had feelings for him. He was now employing avoidance tactics. He could be rather dense sometimes.

Fred giggled, and then looked a little nervous. 'Uh - by the way - my car is in the shop again and I was thinking…'

'Of course …' he picked up the phone and smiled at her.

'Maybe you and I could …'

'Yes, Ms. Burkle needs a driver to take her home tonight ...511 Windward Circle.'

He smiled at her reassuringly, and she stifled her disappointment and smiled her thanks.

* * *

Gunn sat at his desk, looking through his paperwork - he couldn't understand how he had sent in the wrong form. And he couldn't even find the receipts of what he'd done - his whole desk was awash with random reports and papers and he couldn't sort one from the other. This wasn't like him - his office was usually meticulous. But now he had a mess on his hands and a fog in his brain and he couldn't sort the one because of the other.

He suddenly sensed someone standing in the doorway and looked up. It was Lilah. 'What do you want?' he snapped.

She raised an eyebrow. 'The Senior Partners sent me down to check on you,' she told him.

'Yeah? Why they do a thing like that?'

'I just follow the orders. So … is everything OK?'

He clenched its teeth. 'It's fine. It's late. Get out.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'Well - you know where to find me if you need me. See you around.'

She vanished from the doorway, and Gunn put his head in his hands and started to worry in earnest. Something was up with him - and The Senior Partners knew it.

* * *

The office was teeming - even though it was late, the lamps cast the strange, misshapen shadows of their strange, misshapen clients across the walls and on the floor; elongating them to monstrous proportions.

Doyle was behind the computer screen, it's sickly glare was giving him a headache. Cordelia was working the phone and speaking with all the people congregated in the small space, reassuring them.

Ever since they had successfully got the Frona demons out of the city, snatching them out from under the nose of The Scourge, they had been working on building a network to help get other demon families like them to safety - and now their little office heaved like it was Grand Central Station, packed with worried and fretting demons hoping for an escape.

'I know it's frightening ma'am, but I assure you we will get everyone to safety. We just need you not to panic,' Cordelia said to the elderly demon in front of her. The old lady wore spectacles attached to a string and a rope of pearls around her neck … and had purple scaly skin and horns.

'It's just, we're not as young as we used to be. Not 300 anymore - not by a long way. And Arthur, well he has rheumatoid arthritis in all six of his knee joints, and his mind wanders. It's down to me to do all the practicalities - and we can't possibly leave my Great Aunt Ethel's ashes behind, or my daguerreotypes of our honeymoon…'

'I promise you - I'll sort everything. I'll find a way out for you that will be easy on Arthur's knees and means you can take all your treasures with you. I know it's hard, but try not to worry.'

'You know I've never known a human girl take such good care of her elders.'

Cordelia smiled at her.

Doyle meanwhile was filling out a list of groups who could travel by truck up to the Washington safehouse. Harri would be back in town soon and she could do another run. But not everyone was northward bound and he was still waiting to hear back from an old contact of his who worked down at the station to see if he could help one demon family onto a freight train headed for New Mexico.

The computer screen continued to glow sickly green at him, the phone rang loud and shrill - and the clamour of the frightened demon groups rose up to a crescendo. It almost came as a relief when he was hit by a sudden vision, the burst of pain taking him out of the office for a moment.

When he came round it was to find the whole place in silence, and everyone staring at him, fearfully. 'Oh … no,' he shook his head. 'That wasn't a Scourge vision … it was … somethin' else.' He felt the atmosphere palpably relax and the noise and clamour started up again.

He got to his feet and squeezed his way through the crowd towards Cordelia. 'You OK?' she asked him. He nodded, 'yeah - look I better go out and see to this vision. Will you be OK if I leave for a bit? Shouldn't take long.'

'Are you sure you don't want me to come with?'

He looked around at the packed little office. 'No - our work here is way more important. You stay here, help these people. I'll be back before you know it.'

She leaned up for a quick kiss, 'take care,' she warned.

'I always do,' and he grabbed his brown leather jacket from the coat stand and - with no small amount of relief - exited the overhot, overcrowded building and stepped out into the night air.

* * *

Lorne and Angel were closeted in Angel's office, going through the papers Fred had brought in. Lorne was perched on the edge of the desk, flipping through the sheaf of papers - but more interested in the Nina problem. 'Oh the signals are there, el jefe, loud and clear. Nina definitely wants a piece of the Angel cake.'

Angel rubbed his head. 'Lorne - could we just get back to the job?'

'Your wish, dreamboat, my command. You know - I know most of the station runners in town and none of them are really up to this sort of big league, sinister …' he stopped talking and began to chuckle. '7:00 to 7:30?'

'Yeah.'

'Well - that'd be funny … if - you know - it wasn't. There's a real popular kids show in the So-Cal regional market. It's in the right time slot, it's in the right demographic…'

'What's it called?'

Lorne held up the photograph of the frozen little girl and her eerie, rictus grin: 'Smile Time.'

* * *

The set lay abandoned and in darkness. Angel ignored the 'strictly no visitors' sign and walked straight across, heading for the offices at the back. He made his way down a deserted hallway, it was dark and gloomy and he could feel some...thing, cloying at the air. Like invisible fingers trying to grab at him. He shuddered and pushed away the thought, trying to ignore the susserating disturbance in the air that pushed at him like a silent murmur.

There was a squeaking sound - and then a janitor came round the corner, pushing his cart. Angel tensed - expecting to be questioned, ready to pull out his business card and throw around how important he was … But the janitor didn't pay him any attention - even though he was stood in the middle of the hallway, almost blocking the path.

As the janitor reached him, he waved his hand right in the man's face - but he didn't react, didn't look up, didn't stop - and carried on down the hallway, pushing his cart. Angel stared after him until he disappeared from view and then went on his way. He could hear someone else coming towards him, hear their heartbeat, hear the sound of their shoes squeaking against the floor. He turned the corner …

'Dear … sweet … Angel, man - you tryin' to give me a heart attack?' Doyle stumbled back, his hand clutched over his heart protectively - as if to prove his point about the heart attack. 'What y' sneakin' around here for?'

'I wasn't sneaking. I was just … have you noticed anything weird going on here?'

'You mean all the lifeless stiffs wanderin' around like zombies, blind to everythin' around 'em? Yeah I spotted that.' They began to walk down the hall together, falling into step like it was the old days.

'Why are you here?' Angel asked him.

'Vision.'

'No Cordy?'

'We're too busy back at the office. So I came to do a reccie. Didn't realise the situation was big enough for the dark avenger himself to be on the case.'

'11 kids have collapsed in 3 weeks and they're not getting any better. I had reason enough to suspect this place was something to do with it - but if you're getting visions about it…'

'Then that's proof beyond reasonable doubt.'

'Exactly.' Angel stopped by a door that claimed to lead to the CEO's office, tried the handle and then broke the lock. The two of them went inside. The room was decorated with the show's logo and cardboard cutouts of the puppets. Doyle stopped in front of a shapeless purple one almost the same size as him. 'This one must be a guy in a suit,' he said, sizing it up. 'Imagine that being your job? Dressin' up in a big purple costume and prancin' around with a load of puppets on a kids T.V show. Bet the guy had dreams of bein' the next De Niro when he got into the actin' business.'

'No different to being a teletubby,' Angel shrugged.

'Who wants to be a teletubby?'

'Shh,' Angel held up his hand to silence his friend, they both listened carefully, 'you hear that?'

There was a low rumbling sound, coming from somewhere nearby. 'What is that?' Doyle frowned. Angel looked around - and noticed that the filing cabinet, pushed against the far wall, was vibrating slightly. He pointed to it. 'My guess is it's coming from behind there.'

They crossed the room and shoved the cabinet out of the way, and sure enough - they found a hole had been cut in the wall behind it. The rumbling noise was louder now. They climbed through the hole, and Angel flipped the light on.

'What the…?' Doyle cut himself off. Both men stared. There was a guy sat in the room, in pants and a vest - his head was bowed and there was a towel draped over it. He was sat completely still. Behind him, attached to the wall was a large metal plate in the shape of an egg. It was from this that the rumbling emanated. Doyle whistled. 'Whatever's goin' on I'm guessin' this is it.'

Angel, took a few paces forward. The man didn't get up, didn't take the towel from his head. But as he sensed Angel, his hands began to twitch and tremor. 'You .. shouldn't be … here,' his voice was weak and croaky.

The men ignored him. 'Angel - what is that thing?' Doyle asked, nodding at the rumbling metal egg.

'I don't know but…'

The egg suddenly split open along the bottom curve, forming a smile. The rumbling grew louder and louder and a bright purple light began to shine from inside the split. It grew brighter and brighter - and the rumbling got louder and louder - as the smile split wider. 'Angel, man - maybe we should get outta here…'

The smile suddenly stopped growing - now fully formed; the bright light pulsed inside of it and shot out a force which knocked both men off their feet. Doyle was flung back through the entrance hole, Angel was flung across the room and crashed into a stack of boxes which all tumbled on top of him.

The metal egg stopped smiling, the rumbling grew less, the light grew dimmer and slowly the split was closed up; leaving the whole place quiet and dark.

Trapped under the massive boxes, Angel groaned. 'Doyle!' he called out, 'Doyle, you OK?' He began to fight his way free of the cardboard - but it was big, and took a lot of effort to shift. Slowly, he managed to clamber out of it, pulling himself upwards out of the mess and emerging into the room. And that was when he noticed his small, fuzzy, felt hands. He stared at his weeny little puppet hands in confusion, not understanding what he was seeing. 'Huh?'


	55. Smile Time: Part Two

_Part Two_

Cordelia had got rid of the last of their clients - taking names and numbers and promising they would get back to them as soon as they had sorted out an escape route for them, and assuring them there was no need to worry. Yes it was an emergency, but she and Doyle were on top of this - it was their number one priority.

As Doyle still wasn't back, she switched the lights and computers off in the office and then headed down to the apartment. She went into the bathroom and started running a bath and then headed back to the kitchen to make herself a tea. Whilst she waited for the water to boil she ran back to the bathroom and added bubble bath. She swished her hand around, forming the bubbles and listened for the whistling of the kettle on the stove. It was times like this when she _really_ missed Dennis. She was just beginning to realise just how much she had taken for granted having someone in her apartment to pick up after her, tidy up after her, make her drinks and run her baths. Doyle was nowhere near as reliable. She'd have to train him up.

Once the bath was run and the tea was made, she switched the radio on, stripped off her clothes - leaving them in a puddle on the floor; forgetting Dennis would not pick them up - and sank into the bathtub. She groaned and closed her eyes as she felt the warm water begin to soothe away the aches and pains and niggles of the day.

After a long session of luxuriating and exfoliating - and once her fingers had gone all pruny and her tea was finished - she got out of the bath, towelled dry and put her pajamas on. She was sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair, when she heard the door to the garage slam shut. 'Doyle? that you?'

There was no reply. 'Doyle? Are you OK?' She frowned, she couldn't hear him walking towards her - he wasn't talking. 'Doyle?'

'Don't look at me,' his voice suddenly came from the doorway.

'What?'

'Don't! Don't turn around.'

She tensed up. 'What's wrong?'

'It's horrible. I don't want you to see.'

'If something's wrong, I've got to see. Otherwise I can't help.'

She heard him take a deep sigh. 'OK then - you can turn around slowly, if you promise not to scream.'

'I promise.' She turned around, feeling her heart beating against her throat … and then she frowned. The doorway was empty. He wasn't there. 'Are you invisible?'

He cleared his throat, awkwardly. 'Down here,' he admitted. She glanced down. Her eyes widened and she bit her lip, trying to choke her reaction back. But she couldn't hold it in - and a moment later she exploded into laughter.

* * *

Fred had only spent a couple of hours back at home; just time enough for a shower and a quick nap. She had got up as soon as the first rays of sun had started to shine through the crack in the curtains - and now she was back in the lab, working the problem. The phone began to ring, and she pressed the button to take the call on speaker phone. 'Practical science department.'

'Uh - Fred.'

'Hi, Angel,' her voice was bright despite the earliness of the hour. 'Listen, about the epidemic - it might not be mystical after all.'

'Fred do you think you could...'

But she cut right across him, eager to give him her news. 'Knox found a systematic endocrine dysfunction common with all the children, similar to an obscure rainforest pathogen -'

'Fred.'

'- So I put in a call in to the CDC and-'

'Fred!' Angel's voice yelled. She came to a stop and looked surprised. When he spoke again his voice was softer, but still laced with irritation. 'Believe me - it's mystical.'

* * *

Cordelia was up early. She had managed to get Doyle to agree to go to bed last night - once she had stopped laughing - by promising him it was probably just a glamour and it would wear off in a couple of hours. But when she woke up and saw the tiny lump under the covers which was the puppet sleeping beside her, she had got up and decided to take some action. Not least because their demon clients couldn't see him looking like this - he looked ridiculous - they'd lose all respect for the mission and refuse to be evacuated from town if they thought the outfit was being run by a puppet.

She made some coffee and then sat on the sofa, switching the T.V on and muting it whilst she waited for Smile Time to come on. There was a noise in the doorway - she looked up. Doyle was awake and headed her way, she bit her lip but couldn't stop herself from smiling at the way his tiny little feet - in his perfectly miniature felt shoes - crossed over in front of each other as he walked. 'Morning,' she said.

'I don't see what's good about it,' he snapped, his little felt eyebrows knitting together into the most adorable scowl.

'Well - it's a good job I didn't say _good _morning then, isn't it?' she said lightly. She had to bite her lip again as he scrabbled his way up onto the sofa. When he sat down, his little legs didn't even reach the edge of the seat. He stared at his toes forlornly.

'I made you some coff…' she cut herself off, 'hang on - do puppets drink? Do you want coffee?'

'I…' he raised his flat, three fingered, felt hands and stared down at them. He couldn't see how he could possibly manage a normal sized cup when he was this small, or how he would grip it. 'I'm fine.'

He sounded so mournful. Cordelia had to bite her lip again. 'You know it could be worse.'

'How?' he stared at her like she was mad, 'how could this be worse?'

'Well … at least you're adorable. I mean … not that you're not always adorable, but today you're so … weeny. Look at you!'

'Stop it.'

'With your teeny little leather jacket.'

'Shut up.'

'And your super small bowling shirt. You even have little felt chest hair… it's adorable.' She reached out a finger to tickle him.

'Get off!' He slapped her hand away with his own fuzzy mitt. She giggled in delight. He only scowled deeper. 'You know, I don't know why you're laughin' … if I don't get clear o' this hex then you're the one that's gonna have to marry a puppet.'

'That's true…' she giggled again, 'are you … uh … anatomically correct?'

The soft, black squares of his eyebrows hit the top of his fuzzy forehead. 'I don't know. I don't wanna know. I'm not checkin' … and neither are you!' He slapped her hand away again, in case she was getting any ideas.

She bit back a smile, furrowed her brow and then leaned over and pulled his nose off. She held it wonderingly in her hand, 'I thought that was the case,' she said, examining it, thoughtfully. 'Look - velcro. I wonder if any other parts are detachable.'

Doyle's little hands had flown to the now bare midsection of his face, he could feel the felt of his skin snagging on his own velcro. 'Gib me my bose back!'

* * *

Fred poked her head around the office doorway. It seemed to be empty. Angel's swivel chair was turned away from her, though so … maybe. 'Angel?' she asked uncertainly, stepping inside the room. ' Are you all right?'

Gunn and Wesley followed her in. 'you sounded weird on the phone.'

'Yes, is there a problem?' Wesley asked.

'Oh - I'd say there's a problem.' He span his chair around, so he was facing them. Their mouths fell open. 'Whoa!' Gunn breathed.

'Angel? Is that... you?' Wesley peered at the very angry looking little puppet that was staring back at them. It's hair stuck up straight, just like Angel's, and it had the coat … and the glower. But it was just ... one foot high and made of felt.

'Oh my god!' Fred cried, taking in the sight of her boss reduced to a puppet. She rushed round to his side and stared at him. 'Angel you're … _cute_!'

The puppet turned away from her and held up a hand, trying to block his face from her sight. 'Fred - don't.'

But the little hands were one of the cutest parts of him, and she bent over to examine them better - exclaiming in delight. 'And the hair!' she scratched his head. He slapped her hand away. 'Hey! You're fired!' She took a step back and frowned.

Lorne pushed the door open then and walked in, apologising for being late. 'Sorry I'm late, gang. What's with the big…' he caught sight of Angel. 'Puppet?'

'Angel - what happened to you?' Wesley asked him.

'I'm not sure. I went over to Smile Time last night, and I think their office is under some kind of spell. I could feel it trying to get at me. I - I shook it off. Then I met Doyle. We went into the office … and there was a guy with a towel over his head. And something exploded … I woke up like this.' He banged his little felt fist down on the desk in anger.

'Hang on a mo' - Irish was there?' Gunn asked. 'Did he end up a puppet way of looking too?'

'I don't know - I never saw him after the explosion and all the bright lights.'

'Well it's obviously…' Wesley was trying very hard not to laugh, 'some sort of hex…' he fought to keep his face straight, 'or powerful… warding magic.' But then he gave in, his shoulders heaved silently - and beside him everyone else was having just as hard a time holding things together.

'Maybe it's some type of puppet cancer?' Lorne suggested.

'I do not have puppet cancer!' Angel yelled from between gritted teeth. 'Come on guys - this is serious. I'm a puppet. And there are children's lives at …' he caught sight of the clock, gasped and jumped down from his chair, running across the office to his T.V. 'it's Smile Time.' He grasped the remote and aimed it at the screen, but his little hands fumbled with the buttons - and he only succeeded in turning the T.V onto the set up menu. 'Stupid plastic piece of crap,' he seethed - banging the control against the table, petulantly. Then he looked up and saw everyone staring at him 'what?'

...

'Oh hey - it's time,' Cordy picked the remote up and turned the sound back on.

'Don't know what you're hopin' to achieve watchin' this junk,' Doyle muttered darkly, folding his little arms across his chest and sulking.

'Well - it's the only lead we have to put this right. Otherwise I'm spending my wedding night with a 12 inch high, fuzzy Ken doll. Maybe this junk can get you back your junk.' She began to nod her head along in time to the cheery singing.

...

Lorne took the remote from his boss, 'well, Angel - it's OK,' he said, turning it to the right channel. Wesley was watching the scowl on Angel's face. Not that he didn't often scowl - but this one seemed deeper - more expressive - which was surprising in a puppet. 'This transformation may have altered your stress response mechanism,' he said.

'What?'

'He's saying you have the proportionate excitability of a puppet your size,' Gunn explained to him.

On the T.V, the puppets had stopped singing and were now on with the show. The brown dog approached the two human puppets - Polo and the girl. 'Oh hey there.'

'Hi.'

'Aw - looks like Polo has a case of the grumpies,' the dog said.

...

Puppet Doyle snorted. 'This is ridiculous.'

'Sshhh,' Cordy hushed him. 'I'm listening.'

'Yeah he sure does, Groofus,' the puppet girl told the dog, on the screen, 'That mean old Mr. Fish and Chips said that Polo won't win the race tomorrow - no matter how hard he tries.'

'Uhuh - and I feel just awful,' Polo said, 'what if Mr. Fish and Chips is right?'

Puppet Doyle watched Cordelia watching the show. 'You're enjoyin' this!' he accused her. She turned to look at him, her eyes wide and innocent. 'It's a compelling story! I'm _invested_.'

'Uhuh - well just you remember - those freaks turned me into one o' 'em. So you better get invested in stoppin' 'em real fast.'

She giggled. 'Oh - Doyle! The puppets didn't do this. They're just puppets. They're not alive!'

Doyle flexed his little felt hands in front of his eyes. 'I'm alive,' he muttered darkly.

...

The shapeless purple puppet made a hooting noise with the horn where his nose and mouth should be, sounding like a squeaky toy.

Fred picked up the phone and spoke to her assistant, asking her to tape to the show currently airing on channel twelve. She was going to want a full spectrum analysis.

Angel was staring at the screen, his red mouth hanging open. His brow began to furrow more and more deeply and his little hands curled into tiny, felt fists of fury as the puppets took up their song: '_Self esteem is for everybody. Self esteem is for everyone. You can dream and be anybody but self esteem is how you get it done.' _

'Wes, put the special ops team on red alert!' he barked - unable to contain the rage any longer. 'I want helicopters - and tear gas. This is war!'

The team glanced at each other, trying to bite back their laughter. Lorne sat down beside him and patted him comfortingly on the head. 'Angel, baby, muppet, pumpkin - this show is number one in it's time slot. Tykes love it all across the Southland.'

'Connor watches it when he stays at mine,' Wesley said.

'See? - we can't just toss a Jihad at their studio.'

Angel sighed. Fine. But he wanted to know who ran Smile Time.

Lorne knew the guy - of course - it was a man called Gregor Framkin, his was a real rags to riches story. Started out in his garage with a couple of used couches and a glue gun - turned it into a puppet goldmine.

'Yeah. Great. You and Gunn go over there and meet with Framkin, put some pressure on, see if he cracks. Let him know we're onto him. Fred, Wes - I need you to figure out what Framkin's done to those kids…' he looked at his little hands, 'and what he's done to me. Oh - and ring Cordy and Doyle, check he's OK. And guys…' he stopped them just as they were leaving. 'My ... condition - it's classified until further notice. OK?' They nodded - and the door closed behind them.

...

'So did you learn anythin'?' Doyle snapped.

'You mean apart from a valuable lesson in self belief and not letting other people's negativity stop me from achieving my goals?'

He launched himself forward and bit her on the hand. 'Ow!' she cried out, shaking him off. 'Doyle!' She stole his nose again and sat him back down firmly on the couch. 'We don't bite,' she said sternly.

'Dorry,' he said, sounding more than a little ashamed. 'Cab I hab my bose back?' She handed it back across and he fixed it in place, patting it to make sure it was straight. 'So what now?'

'I guess you're gonna have to tell me everything that happened. Start from the beginning.'

He took a deep breath - and the phone began to ring.

* * *

Angel headed back to his desk, sighing deeply, when behind him the door started to open again. 'Angel?' Nina's voice floated through. He gasped in horror, threw the remote on the floor and took a flying leap towards his desk. He landed on the chair and then rolled down to the ground, hiding underneath the furniture just as she came into the room.

'Angel?' She stepped inside the room - it appeared empty, though she didn't know where else he would be at this hour.

As he tried to hide beneath the desk, he made a noise - betraying his presence. 'Dammit,' he hissed. He heard her footsteps move towards him. 'You … are you under your desk?'

'No,' he answered ridiculously. He hung his head - he was gonna have to front this one out. 'Yes. Is there something you wanted?'

'Well… I can see you're … busy.' She sounded hurt. 'Listen - what I put out there last night, I don't know if that was a problem, please -'

'Nope, no problem,' he called out, straining to sound natural. It obviously wasn't fooling her. 'Is there a reason you won't look at me?' she asked.

''Cause I'm under my desk.'

'Angel -'

'Nina -' he couldn't keep this up anymore. 'Would you mind … getting out of here?' Through the slats in his desk, he saw her nod bitterly and turn to leave. 'All right … sorry I guess.'

Well - that was another relationship ruined forever. Shot down in flames because he was an awkward weirdo that everyone insisted on treating like a champion. He'd tried to warn them. He'd told Wesley just last night. No one ever listened to him. He was over 200 years old - everyone else was 30 tops. You'd think they'd believe him when he said he wasn't the kind of guy that could be around people and not be … like he always ended up being. After 200 years he should know! They should trust his judgement on himself.

'What a nightmare,' he groaned, pulling himself back up into his swivel chair. He had only just settled himself down when the door burst open again and this time Spike barged in. 'alright big guy! I killed some ponce last night - said he worked for you - you don't mind do …' his eyes fell onto Angel - and he came to a dead stop.

'Spike …'

'Look at you.'

'Just turn around and walk away.'

'You're a -'

'Spike!'

But Spike's face was now split in two with a grin, and he was laughing uncontrollably. 'You're a bloody puppet!'

Angel launched himself at Spike. The vampire stumbled backward, the puppet wrapped around his throat - and tumbled out through the door and into the lobby, slamming down onto the ground. Angel was on top of him, punching away - but Spike, underneath, was roaring with laughter. And all the lawyers and paralegals and secretaries crossing the lobby came to a stop to watch.

'You're a wee little puppet man,' Spike howled, his face lit up like it was Christmas. Angel thumped him in the nose. 'Ow!' He laughed again. So Angel punched him again - harder this time. 'Ow - that's enough.' He pushed the puppet off himself, throwing him high up in the air. Angel landed on his little feet and glared up at Spike from 12 inches off the floor. Spike got back to his feet, still chortling. 'What the hell happened to you? You look ridiculous.'

'Get out of here, Spike,' the puppet growled.

Harmony leaned over her desk to get a better view. 'Oh my God, Angel - you're a…'

'Shut up!' he pointed at her. His voice was trembling with anger - and there was a stark and serious warning laced in there … but it was a warning coming from a puppet. Meanwhile, Angel had become aware of the stillness around him - of all his employees staring at his weeny puppet form. 'Well, what are you all looking at?' he snapped.

'They're looking at the wee little puppet man.'

Angel growled and launched himself back towards Spike, biting into his forearm. Spike yelled out in pain and smashed his arm against the wall, trying to dislodge the puppet. But Angel clung on, grimly - and Spike stumbled backwards, tumbling into the elevators. The door closed behind them - and the whole lobby was silent as everyone in there listened to the sound of thumps and bangs coming from inside the lift. 'Stupid, limey piece of crap,' Angel was heard to say. And the door opened again, revealing Spike lying on the floor in a crumpled mess - and Angel walked back out into the lobby.

He looked up at all his employees. 'Yes, I'm a puppet,' he said defiantly. 'Doesn't mean you don't all have work to do.' He walked back to his office - it took ages on his short, little legs - and he felt the eyes of the law firm on him the whole way.

...

The elevator door slid closed on Spike once more, just as the one beside it opened up - and Cordy stepped into the lobby, followed by a very tiny and felt Doyle lurking down by her ankles, peering furtively out from behind her legs.

* * *

Gunn and Lorne were shown into Framkin's office. The man himself was in there, sitting at his desk, wearing a pair of magnifying goggles and wielding a hot glue gun, creating some new puppets. He looked up as the two men arrived, 'Hi there,' he greeted them. He pushed his goggles to the top of his head and smiled at them. 'Forgive me for not getting up - I'm a bit glued in at the moment.' He chuckled at his own joke.

Gunn did not smile back. 'Mr. Framkin, we've been tracking an epidemic that's affecting a great many -'

'Cocoa?' Framkin asked. Gunn was thrown off his stride, 'what?'

'I could have some cocoa brought in. Extra yummy. It's got those itty bitty marshmallows.'

'Ooh those are good,' Lorne said eagerly - but then he spotted Gunn's serious business face and his own demeanour changed to match. 'Listen, Santa, you keep your tempting beverages to yourself. We're from…'

'Wolfram and Hart, yes I've heard of it - and of you,' Framkin smiled genially. 'Made quite an impression in our little industry. So much accomplishment despite your unfortunate deformities.'

Lorne frowned, offended. 'Deforma whats?'

'We have a song here at Smile Time which reminds me of your courage and pluck. It's called … courage and pluck. It goes a little something like this … _oh courage and pluck, courage and pluck …' _

'OK Framkin, enough,' Gunn cut through the singing. Framkin went quiet and looked at the younger man politely, as if eager to hear what he had to say. 'We're onto you - you understand? We're gonna shut you down.'

'Oh my - on what grounds?' he asked - still courteous.

'Well for starters, violations of the provisions of section 5 …' he stuttered, the next number wasn't in his head. '5 …' he wrinkled his brow trying to find it, '6 -8-C set forth in chapter 15 of the children's…' it was gone. 'T.V thing!' He snapped in frustration. 'You turned my boss into a frickin puppet.'

'I disagree,' Framkin replied calmly.

'Yeah - but - you - you … _what?_'

'And if your intention is to pressure me, extort money, or do any of the things your firm is famous for then I'm afraid you're in for a fight.'

Lorne put his hands on the desk and leaned over menacingly. 'Yeah, well - a fight suits us just fine, Papa Smurf. We're gonna let the entire world know what you're up to.'

'Up to?' Framkin laughed in surprise. 'Gentleman, I bring joy and laughter to children. You bring tax exemptions to nasty corporations, acquittals to the clearly guilty. Frankly, I don't think the world wants to hear from you.'

'Come on Lorne,' Gunn said, his tone and expression matched in disgust. 'We're done talking to this hump of garbage.'

'Ah ah,' Framkin wagged a jolly finger at him, 'no name calling at Smile Time.'

Lorne gave him a furious glare as he left the room, 'bad person,' he shouted before he slammed the door.

...

Once left alone, Framkin began to whistle the theme tune for the show, until the sound of their footsteps retreated … and then Polo pulled his arm out of the hole in Framkin's back. The man collapsed forward on the desk, lifeless now no one was controlling him. Meanwhile, the puppet picked up the phone. 'Get everybody in here,' he said into it, 'we got a problem.'


	56. Smile Time: Part Three

_Part Three_

With the door to the outside world firmly shut, Doyle and Angel were safely ensconced in the office - refusing to come out and refusing to be seen. They weren't talking much; Angel sat in his swivel chair, his little puppet fingers steepled in front of his face and his felt brows lowered in a deep brood. Doyle was on the sofa, his legs stuck straight out on the seat in front of him - toes pointing at the ceiling - and his little arms folded protectively across his chest. His little puppet face was also twisted into the blackest of scowls. 'Everyone laughin',' he muttered to himself darkly, 'like to see how they'd cope.'

'They wouldn't cope - and they wouldn't think it was funny either.'

'Bunch o' jerks.'

'Bunch of … laughing … giggling … stupid people.'

'Y'know it'd serve 'em all right if …' he was cut off by the office door swinging open, and both puppets gasped and ducked for cover. But it was only Cordelia, with Connor balanced on her hip. 'Hey guys! Look who I brought to cheer you up.'

Connor's face lit up when he saw the little puppets in the room, but - if it were at all possible - Angel's face became even more furious. 'You brought my son in here? When I'm a _frickin' puppet?_'

'Shh,' she sat down on the couch next to Doyle, Connor on her knee. 'No bad language in front of the baby. Now Connor…' she started to talk to the little boy instead. 'Daddy's a little bit grouchy right now - same as always - so shall we have a look at Uncle puppet Doyle? See…' She reached out and lifted Doyle's arm, so Connor could get a better look at it, 'look at his little hands. Does he have the same number of fingers as you? Shall we count?'

'Quit it,' Doyle snapped irritably, snatching his arm back.

'Oh come on! Think about how amazing this is for Connor - real life puppets, alive and talking … he's never gonna get to see this again … probably. This is really magical for him.'

'Yeah we'll just put on a show and sing him a song,' Angel muttered.

'Well would that really be so hard? Puppet Daddy must seem like best daddy ever - but instead it's all doom, gloom and an existential crisis in felt.' She shook her head. Sitting on her lap, Connor suddenly reached out and stole Doyle's nose. The puppet's hands flew straight to his face, 'he dole my bose!'

Connor giggled with delight, slid off Cordy's knee and began to totter his way to the door, nose clutched firmly in his hand. Doyle jumped down from the sofa and began to chase after him, stumbling on his tiny feet - little puppet arms outstretched. 'He dole my bose, gib it back! Gib it back!'

Angel was standing on his chair - trying to pull himself up to his full height, 'bad Connor!' he yelled, 'bad Connor!'

With a sigh, Cordelia got off the sofa, a couple of steps later she had overtaken the stumbling puppet and caught up with the teetering tot. She swung Connor up in the air, gently taking the nose from him and walked back to the sofa, casually handing Doyle his nose back as she passed him. 'We don't steal puppet parts,' she said to Connor, 'if you lose Uncle Doyle's nose, then, once he's a real person again he won't have a nose - and Aunty Cordy won't be able to marry him because he'll be so hideous.'

From down on the floor, where he was straightening his nose, Doyle shot her a very dark look.

'I'm kidding!' she told him, 'look - this is all gonna be over soon. Gunn and Lorne…'

'Aint got nothin',' the door opened and the two men in question came in, looking dejected. 'Framkin's not talking, and we weren't able to intimidate him.'

'But he's the one behind this?' Angel asked.

'Oh for sure,' Lorne said. 'A guy that jolly? - you just gotta know he's into some _peretty_ dark stuff. No one's that nice.'

'I just can't work out what his angle is - what's he gettin' from this?' Gunn said.

Doyle pulled himself back up on the sofa - glanced across at Connor - and then scooched across so he was out of the little boy's reach. He stared down at his toes pointing ceilingward, his fuzzy felt face all glum. 'All I know is, some guy's workin' some kind o' mojo, done some sorta deal with a devil - and it's me payin' the price for that… I don't even think my thumbs are opposable anymore.'

Cordelia smiled at him sympathetically and reached out to pat his head. 'You'll feel less grouchy when you're not so short,' she promised him, '...and when you have the right number of fingers again.' She looked up at the two men, 'so what next?'

'There's something I need to take care of,' Gunn told her, 'and then I think I should be able to get to the root of the matter, no problem.'

* * *

The Smile Time puppets gathered around Framkin's desk, the door was locked, the lights were off - Framkin was still collapsed beside them, face down on the desk, but they were ignoring him. Polo had tucked a cigarette behind his ear and was pouring whisky from a flask into a coffee mug. 'OK. Which one of you short-bus bastards turned the CEO of Wolfram and Hart into a puppet?'

The dog and the girl looked at each other uncertainly - and the purple, shapeless puppet threw its arms up in the air and tooted on its noise maker.

'What do you mean "it wasn't us"?' Polo demanded. The noise maker tooted again, and the brown dog began to nod slowly. 'Ratio's right man, this Angel cat must have been the dude that broke into the "Don't" room last night.' There was another toot from Ratio's noisemaker, and Groofus nodded along. 'That's what I'm sayin'. He messed with the nest egg.'

Polo shook his head in bitter disbelief - you might as well just walk into a nuclear reactor and lick the core. Anything could have happened - to Angel, to them to … he thumped the desk, angrily. 'You just don't mess with the nest egg!'

'Well maybe we should take the spell off a couple of our workers, you know,' suggested the girl, 'so they could see an intruder?'

But Polo shook his head. 'Doesn't matter. The nest egg's already got enough power in it to keep our cloaking spells up and running, make our connections with the kiddies, even turn this Angel guy into a puppet. So I say, tomorrow when we go on the air, instead of draining one brat's life force at a time, we take out our whole demographic in one fell swoop.'

The other puppets gasped. 'So tomorrow's gonna be a pretty big show, huh?' Groofus asked.

'The biggest.'

'Cool, because I've been working on this great new song about the difference between analogy and metaphor.'

Polo threw his coffee cup at the dog's head. 'Are you out of your mind?'

'We still want it to be good don't we?'

'We eat babies' lives!'

'And uphold a certain standard of quality edu-tainment.'

'Screw edu-tainment!' The other puppets gasped again. 'The life force we're pulling out of those snotnosed kids is 100% pure innocence, dickwad! You have any idea the kind of street value that carries down in hell?'

Ratio threw up his arms and tooted again.

'Damn right we're gonna be rich. Enough to buy our very own Hades. After tomorrow, we'll torch this craphole straight after the show and then blow town before the rafters fall.'

Beside them Framkin stirred slightly. 'Please,' he croaked. 'Please let me…'

'Someone say you could join in?'

'Let me die.'

The puppets began to laugh. 'Oh! Are you saying you wanna talk to the hand?' Polo grinned malevolently. Framkin began to desperately shake his head, but the puppet ignored him. 'I think he does. Come on, fat boy, why don't you talk to the hand?' And he thrust his hand up into the puppet hole in Framkin's lower back. Framkin sat bolt upright and began to moan and grunt in agony, whilst all the puppets laughed.

* * *

Nina stood in her cage waiting for moonrise. It was Harmony who had shown her to her 'suite' tonight … she wondered if Angel would ever put in an appearance again, or if she'd freaked him out so badly he would never dare face her. He must have been pretty freaked to hide under his desk like that. He was supposed to be a champion, the suggestion of an unwanted date shouldn't send him diving for cover. And he was a good looking guy - women hitting on him mustn't be anything new.

But somehow - Nina had misread the signs or blown it so badly that now he couldn't even look at her. Had she had somewhere else to go, she wouldn't have even turned up this evening, but she couldn't put people in danger because she was embarrassed. And she had half hoped that maybe she would catch him - maybe she could apologise - make things right. But when she'd stepped out into the lobby, his office door had been firmly shut and it was Harmony who greeted her and led her downstairs.

She sighed. Much as she didn't enjoy the full moon, it would be simpler when she wasn't herself anymore. She lifted her arms to take her shirt off.

'uh...Nina?'

She immediately dropped her arms. 'Angel?' She peered out, but couldn't see him.

Hidden behind the door, the little puppet sighed. 'Yeah - sort of. I wanted to apologise for the way I treated you this morning.'

'Look - I understand.'

'Pretty sure you don't.'

'You've got this whole, complicated, important life going on. And the last thing you need to deal with is a crush from monster girl - some charity case who you were nice enough to …'

'Nina,' he interrupted her. He bolstered his courage and then stepped out from behind the door so she could see him. She froze. 'I got turned into a puppet last night. '

'Oh .. wow .. are you - are you OK?'

'I'm made of felt,' he pulled off his nose, 'and my bose comes off,' he said as if muffled with a very bad head cold. He popped his nose back in place. 'My people are working on the problem, I'm sure they'll fix it - eventually - I didn't mean to upset you this morning. I just didn't want anyone - I didn't want you to see me like this. It's a little embarrassing.'

'I'd call it a little insane … but what do you care what people think? You're a - god! - you're an actual hero, you know?'

'It all sounds good but that's not how I feel.'

'I know - that's what I like about you.'

He sighed, 'I'm not good at any of this.' He turned away from the cage and gazed up towards the ceiling, reflecting on his shortcomings. 'I've spent so much time worrying about the past and the future and my very complicated life… it's been a while since I really looked up and saw what was really going on around me. It's not my strong suit, you know? But I'm working on it. I'm paying better attention to…' a massive, hairy paw lashed out from between the bars and, with a ferocious growl, the werewolf behind him ripped into the tiny little puppet.

'No! Nina!' he tried to tear himself away, 'bad Nina!' There was the sound of fabric tearing. 'Yaaaaahhhh!'

* * *

Lorne crossed the lobby headed for his office, when the elevator door opened and Angel crawled out, dragging himself along the ground, his stuffing spilling out from jagged tears in his fabric. 'Lorne!'

'My little prince!'

Angel groaned and collapsed and Lorne swept him up in his arms, 'what did they do to you?'

'Nina … tried to … eat me…' then he went still again.

Lorne looked around in panic. 'Medic!' he cried, 'You're gonna make it, Angel, just don't stop fighting … Doctor! Is there a Gepetto in the house!'

* * *

The doctor's office was gloomy, the lights turned low. A man was strapped into the chair and bright sparks flew from the cruel looking implement that the doctor wielded over him. The only sound was the buzzing of the drill.

Gunn opened the door and stepped inside. 'With you in a minute,' the doctor called. He switched off his drill and then placed a pair of sunglasses on the man's face, 'now I want you to wear those for a full week, give those fancy new retinas a chance to heal,' the man nodded, got up and began to leave the room, 'Then I get to see you in 14 days.' The door closed behind the man and the doctor turned to Gunn - he had the same Cheshire cat grin he had worn the last time. 'X-ray vision, very _now_.'

'There's something wrong with the implant you gave me,' Gunn told him, he had no time for small talk. The doctor's grin grew wider, 'well - I doubt that, let me take a look.' He used a finger to pin back Gunn's eyelid and shone a light into his eyes, peering in to get a better look. 'Ah - the imprint is fading. Your neural path modification has almost completely reverted.'

'I'm losing it. The law, the languages, the strategy.'

'Acute Flowers For Algernon syndrome,' he chuckled, 'it must be sheer torture.' He sounded delighted about the whole thing.

'Well fix it, put it back.' He flung himself down in the chair and lay back, ready to be operated on. The doctor shook his head, pityingly. 'Well, no offence counsellor, but your insurance plan wouldn't cover what I charge to wash my hands. You were given that upgrade 'cause The Senior Partners wanted you to have it and if you're losing it, then they wanted that too.'

Gunn shook his head. Why would The Senior Partners do that? Why would they do it to him? He was on Angel's team, he was the one who spoke to the big cat, he had a place at the firm - a use. What game were The Senior Partners playing with him if they were going to take away his purpose like that? It didn't make any sense. 'I can't lose this,' he told the doctor, 'these powers, these skills - they've changed me, given me -'

'Meaning?' The doctor grinned. He never stopped smiling - sometimes it was wider, sometimes it was smaller, but it was always there. 'And to have it taken away it's … heartbreaking.' He shook his head as if in sympathy, but that smile was still there - he was enjoying Gunn's pain.

'I'm not going back to who I was,' Gunn said angrily, getting back to his feet and glaring at the doctor. The doctor only shrugged. 'Well maybe, maybe not…' he walked over to the computer and began to tap away at the keyboard, whilst he lay out his problem. He didn't just perform impossible surgeries on the disgustingly wealthy, he also always had a few things going on at the side as well. Currently he had a lot of capital sunk into a shipment that was being held up in customs.

'Drugs?' Gunn asked suspiciously. That made the doctor laugh. 'Goodness no. I make my own drugs. No - just an ancient curio, a collectable I hope to turn a profit on.' He turned back round so he was facing Gunn and smiled up at him. 'If I was to give you the permanent upgrade I'd say that you'd be more than able to cut through all the red tape.'

Gunn folded his arms across his chest and glowered, 'I don't make deals with people like you,' he said.

'And believe me, Charles, I don't make deals with people like you. Not the person you really are. The ignorant street muscle. The high school dropout. I would, however, love to make a deal with Charles Gunn … attorney at law.' His smile was wide again - his Cheshire Cat grin illuminating his whole face - making his eyes dance with the wicked possibilities of what he was suggesting. Gunn stared at him for a long moment before making up his mind.

* * *

'Just lie still and quit being such a baby,' Cordelia said, she held the two edges of a tear together and stabbed her threaded needle through.

'Ow! Stupid needle.'

She tugged as she felt the thread get stuck inside his stuffing, but she tugged too hard - and felt it snap. 'Sorry - I'll try again.'

'Stupid string.'

'I'll fix you before you know it - just don't let anymore of your stuffing fall out.' She began to work at threading her needle once more - and glanced across at her weeny puppet fiance, sitting on the couch. 'And don't you be getting any ideas about wandering off and literally getting the stuffing knocked out of you.'

'No, Cordelia,' he said blankly, he was still glumly staring at his own tiny puppet feet. She noticed how dejected he was and put her needle down, 'hey,' she said softly, 'you will be a real boy again soon, I promise. The guys are working on it - they always come through.'

'Uh hello!' Angel interrupted, 'patient lying right here on the operating... desk - maybe we could have less of the yaketty yak and more of the healing? I don't know why it's taking so long anyway.'

'_Because!_ I have a first aiders certificate to treat humans, not a special MD from the doll's hospital. Sewing isn't my thing. Now sit tight - you'll be right as rain before you know it.'

'Still be a puppet though,' Doyle muttered darkly.

* * *

Fred and Wesley sat in the lab, watching recordings of Smile Time on a small T.V. Polo introduced Action Math News with Ratio Hornblower and Groofus - and Groofus sang a little news intro before giving the headline's: 2 plus 2 is four, and in related news 4 plus 4 is 8.

Wesley stared at the screen. 'It could be the lack of sleep talking… but I'm really starting to like this show.'

Fred smiled warmly. 'I know what you mean. What time is it?'

'4 AM and counting.' Knox walked in carrying two take out coffee cups, he handed one to Fred and held onto the other himself. Wesley looked at it. 'Oh, I'm sorry did you want -' Knox held the coffee out, but Wesley turned it down - not necessary. He turned back to the t.v - trying to get back to business, 'what are we missing?'

'I guess we could go back and comb through the signal spread, check all the tracks again.'

But that suggestion only made Knox roll his eyes, 'yeech! Again? What's up with you two? The tracks are clear.'

'That's not how magic works, Knox,' Wesley's voice was cold and stiff and irritated. He didn't turn round, as he spoke, choosing to keep his eyes fixed on the screen instead.

'Really … _Merlin_? Then how does magic work?'

Before Wesley could snap back a retort, Fred cut between the two of them. 'You know what?' she smiled at Knox, 'I think we can handle it from here. You should go home. Get some rest.'

He shook his head, 'oh no - I don't wanna abandon ship.'

'That's OK, someone's got to be awake enough tomorrow to run the lab. Seriously, go home.' She kept her tone pleasant and her smile soft - but the issue was not really up for discussion. She was kicking Knox out. She didn't have time - the team didn't have time - for Wes and Knox to snipe and bitch at each other. And of the two … well, it was Wes she'd prefer to be working with this evening … morning.

Knox nodded, understanding he'd been dismissed. 'OK'

On the T.V, Groofus took up a song about math. Fred giggled - Knox forgotten already, 'oh I love this one.' She handed her coffee over to Wesley and they sat there, huddled close together, sharing the drink between them. Knox watched them for a moment and then walked off.

* * *

Gunn was down in contracts. There were people down there who had found the files and records he was asking for - Wolfram and Hart always had 24 hour minions who knew where everything was, down in their gloomy basements - and now he was sat at a table poring over their contents. His tie was loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled up and he was on what must be his tenth coffee.

'So how's it going?'

He looked up, 'Lilah.'

'I guess you're down here beavering away on Angel's little puppet problem?'

'And I guess you're down here checking up on me for The Senior Partners - seeing how I'm doing.'

'Well it is my job.' She smiled her shark's smile. Gunn stared at her - reminded suddenly of the doctor, as he saw her predatory grin. 'Yeah well - it wasn't always your job was it? You were once the top law gal around these parts, so sit on down and get stuck in - two heads are better than one.'

She laughed - a small, dry chuckle in the back of her throat. 'You think I'm just gonna sit here and help you?'

'Didn't you say before - "if I needed anything"? Well I need a second pair of eyes. And Angel needs to be not a puppet. Don't think The Senior Partners would be too happy if they felt their liaison wasn't supporting the team, leaving us unable to do their work.' He held out a file and glared at her, maintaining eye contact until she shrugged, took the folder and sat herself down across from him.

* * *

'_From the number of your toes to the arc of a swing, and even in the length of a yoyo string there's a little bit of math in everything.' _Wesley glanced away from the singing puppets as he heard the door close, seeing that Knox had now left them alone. He turned back to Fred. 'So… how's it going with you and Knox?' He tried to keep his voice casual - as if the answer was of no great importance to him. 'I know the two of you were starting to …'

'Started and stopped, actually,' Fred said.

'Really?' He was still striving for casual - but he couldn't completely hide the note of hope, the way his insides had just turned a cartwheel in celebration. He handed the coffee back to her, hoping she hadn't noticed.

She smiled her thanks and took a sip, using the cup to hide the sudden blush - whose heat she felt staining her cheeks. 'Yeah … we went out a few times but … I don't know.'

He muted the television - this conversation was too important to have with singing puppets in the background. 'So … you stopped it.'

'Yeah. He's - he's nice enough. But I think he's been working here too long. Plus, he doesn't make me laugh at all - I mean he tries but …'

'Oh I see,' he turned back to the screen. The balloon of hope which had been inflating inside of him had just popped - and he was left with the familiar sinking feeling of dashed hopes and bad news. 'You're looking for someone funny.'

'A certain type of funny,' Fred said, watching him closely, though he wouldn't turn back and look at her. 'And I'm not so much looking for as looking at -'

But Wesley had noticed something on the screen and was no longer listening to her. 'Hang on. Go back a second - there's something different. Maybe if we turn up the volume.'

Fred rewound the tape and Wesley turned the volume back on, the picture changed instantly. When the T.V had been silent, Polo had been right up at the front of the screen, peering out - but once the sound was back, he was singing along with all the other puppets same as normal. Wes pressed mute again and immediately Polo was in a changed position, once more, his hands pressed against the inside of the glass as he stared out at the audience.

Fred frowned. 'Polo isn't singing with the rest of them, it looks like he's talking to the audience.'

'Yes. when the song is playing, it acts as a sort of cloaking spell, allowing Framkin to address his target without being seen by the rest of his viewers.'

'So that's how he's been hiding it,' she said thoughtfully.

'No. That's how he _was_ hiding it.'

* * *

The sun was rising, and the two puppets and Cordelia were still cloistered in the office after a fretful night. 'It's been over 24 hours,' Doyle said dejectedly. 'How long d'y' think we got until this becomes permanent?' He raised his fuzzy little hand up to his eye level and peered at it. 'I don't wanna live forever as an enchanted puppet.'

'Don't be silly, that can't happen,' Cordelia told him, though she glanced away to hide her frown. She remembered the ventriloquist dummy back in Sunnydale. She hadn't known what it was at the time, but Xander had filled her in afterwards. This whole puppet situation was getting less funny and more worrying by the minute. She really hadn't thought it would take this long to resolve.

The door opened, all of a sudden, and Fred and Wesley strode in. 'It's all in the broadcast,' the watcher announced without any preamble. 'Some very nuanced magic, but we found it - finally.'

'It's a hidden carrier wave masked by a spell that turns the T.V onto a two way conduit with direct access to the viewer,' Fred explained.

Over on the couch, Cordelia wrinkled her nose in confusion, 'uh - what?'

'That's how he's been draining energy from the children,' Wesley explained to everyone. 'And judging from the strength of yesterday's signal, Framkin's ready to take out the whole audience. The object you described in that secret room is most likely a repository for the children's life force. We'll have to break the binding magic on it.'

'Which should free those children and … reverse your puppet problem,' Fred finished up. Angel gasped at her last words, and suddenly flung himself at her, wrapping his arms around her waist. 'I love you guys!'

Meanwhile, Doyle had buried his face in his little hands and was now weeping puppet tears. 'It's just too good to be true,' he sobbed. Cordelia patted him on the head. 'It must be hard having people sized emotions all squished into a tiny little puppet body,' she said soothingly, though she was hiding how relieved she felt herself.

Fred just looked uncomfortable as Angel hugged her, unsure as to what to do. A moment later, he came to his senses, let go and cleared his throat. 'We'd better get moving. Framkin knows we're on to him. If he's ready to zap his whole audience he'll pull the trigger today for sure.'

'Not him - them.' Gunn walked through the door, smiling; his tie was back in place and his jacket back on. 'Framkin's not doing this - it's the puppets. They're demons. The show's possessed. Smile Time's ratings hit an all time low last year. Framkin made a deal with some devils to bring it back to number one.'

'You're sure of that?' Wesley asked.

Gunn nodded. Dead sure. Every contract signed with the lower planes was filed with the library of demonic congress. It was there to find if you knew where to look. Or had minions who knew where to look. The legalese of it was pretty tricky too, Gunn reckoned that Framkin must have missed some of the small print.

'Which allowed them to take over everything,' Angel said, pacing up and down. Gunn nodded again. 'Including Framkin. These particular devils have a fairly distinctive M.O.'

Fred looked surprised, 'they've done it before?'

'Ever seen the last few seasons of Happy Days? Point is - if you wanna take out Smile Time - take out the puppets.'

'Well then,' the weeny Angel puppet crossed behind his desk and took down his broadsword from the wall, pulling it out of its scabbard. He lowered his square, felt eyebrows into his most menacing puppet glower. _'Let's take out some puppets.'_


	57. Smile Time: Part Four

_Part Four_

Lorne was in the kitchen - preoccupied with making breakfast. With one careful eye on his uncle, Connor slid from his chair and then tottered his way towards the living room. He'd been told no T.V today … but he knew how to work the remote. He clambered up on to the sofa - pressed the on button and began to smile. '_In our secret backyard we can make your day more fun and less hard, no more frowning, let's get learning, ABCs and 123s. Everything from words to weather…' _

Polo suddenly stepped away from the other puppets, leaving them singing as usual, and placed his hands up on the screen, peering out. 'Hey there,' he said.

''Lo!' Connor cried out in delight. This was different. Polo was acting like puppet daddy. He liked it. He waved a tiny fist and beamed.

'Listen kids, today is going to be an extra special best show ever! But only if everyone at home can give us a hand. Now get up … and come over here.'

The little boy slithered down from the couch and took tumbling steps towards the television. 'That's it - touch the screen - now just keep your hands there.' He reached out and touched the screen - and immediately started to feel weak and wobbly and nauseous. But inside the television, Polo was laughing his head off.

'Let it all go,' he cackled 'after all - it's Smile Time.'

'No it's not.'

...

Polo gasped and turned to look where this unknown voice had come from. He saw the newly puppeted CEO of Wolfram and Hart standing on top of the kennel, a broadsword held over his shoulder.

'It's time to kick your ass all the way back to hell,' Angel said.

'You!' cried Polo in disgust. Angel swung the sword at his head and - with a primal yell - dove off the top of the kennel, launching himself at the red headed puppet. He swung his sword, but it missed and Polo punched him.

'Hey, man, you're ruinin' the show,' Groofus yelled out at Angel. But another sword swung out of nowhere and beheaded the little, brown dog. His head flew across the set and then bounced a couple of times before rolling away.

Ratio came out of his box to see what was happening - gave a toot of alarm and then ran back inside. Polo, meanwhile, had the upper hand in his fight with Angel - managing to smack him all the way into the doghouse.

'Angel!' Gunn called out.

'It's a full scale attack!' Polo realised, seeing him. 'Ratio, the nest egg.' Ratio hooted and ran off. And then Polo found himself pinned to the ground by another - very angry looking - small puppet. 'Who the hell are you?' he asked, striking out with his fist. He managed to knock Doyle off himself and sat back up, finding himself staring at Cordelia's shoes. 'Oh this is just weird,' he heard her say from miles above him, 'I can't fight a puppet - this is insane.' Then one of those, very stylish, shoes came swinging at Polo's face and before he knew what was happening, he found himself hurtling backwards through the air.

'Yep - this is insane,' Cordelia muttered, crouching down to check on Doyle.

...

Wesley and Fred had managed to break into the secret room whilst the fight was going on. Wesley carried a large satchel, which, on finding the nest egg, he handed to Fred and then took out a scroll. He began to read. 'Aperi, rumpe, solve, reveni. Aperi, rumpe, solve reveni…' The nest egg began to rumble loudly and split apart, the bright light shining through the crack once more. 'Don't look at it, Fred,' Wesley called a warning over the thundering rumble, and Fred looked down at her feet - tearing her eyes away from the mystical object detonating right in front of her.

Beside her, Wesley continued to chant. 'Refer quod furatem…' but then Ratio bumbled into the room, hooting with alarm and anger and grabbed Wes from behind, gripping him around his neck and yanking him backwards. The scroll dropped from his hands.

'Wes!' Fred cried out, stepping towards him.

'No. Fred. Keep reading.' He choked out, turning purple from the lack of oxygen.

With a final glance at Wesley, Fred turned and picked up the scroll.

...

Polo had regained his feet and rushed into the doghouse - to begin kicking the stuffing out of Angel. The two puppets smacked each other around in a felt on felt grudge match; little fists of fury raining down on squashy faces. Angel grabbed Polo and chucked him out of the kennel. Gunn swung his battle axe at the flying puppet, but before he could strike - the girl puppet suddenly pounced on him from nowhere, and dragged him off the sound stage.

'Oh my god,' Cordelia jumped down off the set to try and help her friend, whilst Angel and Doyle closed in on Polo.

The girl was throttling Gunn, Cordy reached down and pulled her away - but the puppet twisted in her arms and smacked her a stinging blow across the nose. Cordy dropped her and she landed on Gunn's chest, pinning him down once more. She reached her stretching fingers out, grasping like claws, 'gimme those pretty eyes,' she hissed.

...

Connor was still standing at the T.V, his hands pressed against the screen. He had turned a sickly green and was swaying as he felt weaker and weaker, finding it harder and harder to keep standing.

On the T.V, Gunn was still being choked by the puppet girl whilst Cordy stood over them, trying to pull the puppet off. Between them, the two humans managed to struggle and wrestle the possessed muppet off Gunn's chest - gripping her in mid air, where she writhed and twisted and tried to slip free. But then Gunn smashed her against the T.V camera and the girl fell to the ground with a moan.

Gunn stared down the lens of the camera - broadcast live into the homes of thousands of children in the So Cal region. None of them saw him, not even Connor noticed his Uncle Charles was on his T.V. They were all being drained and were too weak to notice that Smile Time was not playing out as usual. Behind the camera was no different. From the cameramen, to the grips, to the director, to the teamsters - all the humans remained under their enchantment, unable to see what was going on and moving slowly around the set like Zombies.

...

The smile of the nest egg was growing wider, and the light ever brighter. Wesley was still struggling with Ratio - but Fred was doing her best to ignore the chaos around her and was focusing on the scroll. 'Solvi, reveni… aperi, rumpe, solve, reveni…' Ratio threw Wes against a wall, and he slumped to the floor, but she carried on reading. 'Fractae, omni, vin…'

Wes wasn't back on his feet. She sneaked a glance behind herself - and saw Ratio creeping up on the prone watcher with a fire extinguisher raised above it's shapeless, purple head. She dropped the scroll.

Ratio lifted the extinguisher ready to smash it down but, before he could, a gunshot went off - he staggered backwards. He was shot again - this time in the eye - and he stumbled again, squeaking in pain. Down on the floor, Wesley turned and saw Fred holding a smoking gun. He smiled at her in grateful admiration, and scrambled back to his feet. She blushed, dropped her gun and picked up the scroll and began to read again.

...

The three puppets were still tangled up in a felt flying fist fight. Angel threw a punch, but Polo ducked it - and the vampire puppet's fist landed smack in the middle of Doyle's fuzzy little face. The Irishpuppet fell backwards, landing on his behind and his hands flew to his nose. 'Ow!' He pulled his own nose off, and held it clasped in his three fingered hand, in an attempt to stop the sting. 'Jebus! My bose!'

Ignoring the downed puppet, Polo swung his own fist back at Angel. 'I'm gonna tear you a new puppet hole, bitch!' But Angel caught his arm and dragged him to the ground, pinning him. He wrapped his hands around Polo's neck and began to choke him. 'So - you got a bit of demon in you,' Polo spluttered.

'I got a lot of demon in me.' He vamped out, his brow going all bumpy and little felt fangs descending from his mouth. 'Now come on.' He seized Polo by the throat and hurled him across the set, up into the air so he smashed into the treehouse, crashing through the wooden railing. The railing broke into splinters and Polo landed, impaled, on the sharpest one. He went limp.

...

Wesley shoved Ratio, ramming him against the wall. Fred did her best to ignore it and continued with her steady chant. Wes used his forearm to pin the purple puppet to the wall by its throat, and then used his other hand to snap off Ratio's horn. The puppet made a terrible, deflating, squealing noise and its stuffing began to fly out of the hole, spraying into Wesley's face.

Twisting his face away from the exploding cotton, puppet guts - Wesley twisted the horn in his hand and then stabbed the sharp end right through Ratio's eye. Ratio squeaked a bit more - and then collapsed.

...

Connor closed his eyes, tears began to leak from them, rolling down his cheeks. But he was too weak to keep them open and too weak to cry out. His hands were still pressed against the screen.

...

Angel stared up at Polo's limply dangling legs. He switched back to his normal face and straightened his collar. 'Gunn?'

Gunn held up the dismembered arms of the girl puppet, 'I think I'm good.'

Cordelia crossed over to where Doyle was still sat on the floor, clutching his nose in his right hand. 'My bose hurts,' he told her, holding it out. She took it from him, smiling softly, and gave it a rub before gently replacing it back on his face. 'You don't wanna lose that,' she said. Then she looked around at the others. 'How are Fred and Wesley doing?' she asked.

...

Having disposed of Ratio, Wesley came to stand beside Fred as she finished her chant. 'Fracta. Aperi, rumpe, solve, reveni,' she read for the last time - and the smiling nest egg began to break up, long cracks appearing along the smooth metal, splitting it into a hundred separate pieces. The light grew blindingly bright, and the rumble enormously loud and - just as Fred and Wes flung their arms over their heads to protect themselves - it exploded, shattering into a million little splinters. And then the room was left in darkness.

...

Connor was suddenly blown backwards from the television, whatever force had held his hands against the screen now exploded outward - pushing him away. He landed smack in the middle of the floor with a loud thump - and now he began to cry loudly.

'Connor - there you are. What did we tell you about T.V this morn-' Lorne arrived in the doorway, bearing milk and toast. He glanced across at the T.V - and saw the carnage on screen, the devastation his family had wrought to the set of Smile Time - and then looked down at Connor, lying on the floor, howling. 'Oh crap!'

* * *

Back down in the apartment, Doyle took a deep breath and then scaled up the chair and clambered up onto Cordelia's dressing table, peering into her mirror.

'What are you doing?' Cordy yawned - she rolled over in bed to watch him. They were supposed to be sleeping, they had been up more than 24 hours.

'I was just … checkin'.'

'Checking?'

'To … to see if I was gettin' back to normal yet.'

She yawned again, and then smiled at him sleepily. 'Wes said it would still be a while yet.'

He glanced down at his little figure, forlornly. 'But - d'y' think maybe I look a bit taller?'

'Oh sweetie … no.' She laughed. 'Come back to bed, we have important work to do once you're less ridiculous.'

He jumped down from the dressing table, crossed the floor and then clambered up onto the bed, crawling onto the pillow beside Cordelia. 'Now go to sleep,' she told him, 'and maybe when you wake up, you won't be a puppet anymore.'

* * *

Nina woke up on the cold, hard floor with only the haziest memory of the night before. She rolled over, and picked something out of her mouth - it was fluff, like cotton. She sat up. The whole floor was strewn with it … and then she remembered. 'Oh my god - I ate him!'

She heard the door open, and hastily grabbed her robe, wrapping it protectively around herself. 'Nina?' It was Angel's voice. She sighed with relief. 'Hey - are you decent?'

'Oh - Angel thank god. Just a minute.' She tied her robe and got to her feet. 'OK.' Angel walked in, bobbing around on his unsteady felt feet. She shook her head, 'wow - sorry - it takes some getting used to.'

'Ha! Tell me about it. Wes and Fred said my condition is improving, though.'

'So you're gonna change back?'

'Yeah - 2, 3 days tops.' He opened the cage door, 'what are you doing for breakfast?'

She laughed, 'what do puppets eat?'

He considered the question for a moment. 'Let's find out,' and he took her hand and led her out.

* * *

Wesley was finishing his report, when Fred knocked on the door and stepped into his office. 'I just got off the phone, looks like the kids are coming out of their stasis,' she told him.

'Oh, good.' He smiled, 'I think we did some excellent work back there.'

She smiled back at him, hers even wider. 'I think you're right.'

'And now -' he grabbed his coat

'And now?'

'We better get some rest. No telling when the next crisis will strike,' and he started for the door. Fred stepped to the side, cutting off his path. He came to a stop - and she stared up into his face. 'You're just gonna go, aren't you?'

'Fred-'

She searched his expression - looking for any sign that they were on the same page. She didn't see it - and knew she was going to have to spell this out. It was now or never. Her heart beat faster inside her chest, like a butterfly trying to escape the cage of her ribs - battering its wings in vain. 'Haven't you been … sensing anything lately … about me? Coming from me? Uh … didn't occur to you that something might have changed. That I'm looking at you in a different … oh, screw it.' She placed a hand either side of his face and drew him down towards her, pressing her lips against his in a kiss.

Then she broke apart and stared into his eyes. He was looking dazed, 'uh-'

'That was a signal, OK?' She said, 'Is that … clear enough for you?'

A slow smile spread across his face, lighting him up like the sunrise. He dropped his coat to the floor, 'not even close,' and he pulled her into a deeper and more lasting kiss.

* * *

It was a couple of days later - and the puppet was now a man, or at least a half man, and he was able to get back to his work. It was late at night and the office was teeming again, as Doyle and Cordelia tried to make up for lost time, sorting out safe passage out of the city for harmless demons who might be targeted by The Scourge.

The door opened and - instead of yet another frightened demon client - Gunn walked in. He looked surprised to see the place so packed, but he didn't comment and instead just squeezed his way through the crowd until he found Doyle. 'Yo - Irish, sorry to interrupt, but - can I speak to you? In private?'

With an apologetic glance at Cordy, to be leaving her alone to handle all this once again, he nodded and led Gunn down the stairs to their apartment. Gunn sat at the table, and Doyle got out the bottle of whisky and the tumblers; from the look of the younger man's face he could tell it was going to be a conversation that needed whisky.

'So - you're a real boy again,' Gunn said, as Doyle sat down opposite him and began to pour. The half demon smiled self deprecatingly. 'Yep - all fingers and toes and a nose that is no longer detachable. I've never felt taller in all my life.'

It was Gunn's turn to smile … but it faded quickly and his face fell back into his morose expression. Doyle cleared his throat, 'so - uh - what was it you wanted to talk about?'

'The price,' Gunn said. Doyle furrowed his brow, not understanding. 'When you make a choice - accept a gift, it don't come for free. There's a price - and you have to decide if it's worth payin' … or if it's too high,' he stared down at the amber liquid in his glass, 'and I already made a mistake on that account - a big one.'

'What ...?' Doyle still wasn't sure where this was going.

'And then the time came to make another choice … and I had to stop and consider the price…' he took a long drink of his whisky. 'I'm losing them,' he admitted. 'My powers - the upgrade The Senior Partners gave me. All of it. Law, languages … everything, it's faded back to near where I started. Give it a few more days, it'll be like I never had it.'

'I'm sorry,' Doyle said.

'Yeah - right. No one else ever trusted them anyway, right? Didn't like me having 'em. But …' his face twisted as he thought about everything that had changed since his mind had opened up, and how he was losing it. 'They gave me so much meaning. They gave me so much purpose. They brought me joy - I loved every second of it. And now I'm losing it - and I can't stand it.'

'We might not trust The Senior Partners - but none of us want to see you in pain, Charles,' Doyle said softly. He still didn't understand why it was him Gunn had come to, why he wasn't speaking with Angel or Wes or Lorne. Someone still on the team.

'I went to go see the guy that gave me the upgrade in the first place - this doctor Lilah sent me to when we first went to Wolfram and Hart. He offered to give me a permanent upgrade - an implant that would never fade… but that offer didn't come for free.'

'The price,' Doyle nodded, finally beginning to understand where this was going.

'It was just a signature - that's all he wanted. Something stuck in customs - needed releasing. All it would have taken was signing my name on the dotted line - and I could keep my powers, keep 'em forever...but…'

'You didn't sign.' It wasn't a question.

'I couldn't do it. I just stared at him - at his smile, he was enjoying it _way_ too much and I knew: if I signed that paper, there'd be a price to be paid. Not by me. And maybe I wouldn't see it. But it would still get paid. Someone would get hurt. Just like me handing over that statue to Lord D'hakmarth … just like Framkin doing a deal with his devils to save his show. And I walked out and now … it's going. Everything that made me special, important. I'm losing it. I won't be able to help the team anymore.'

'Hey - you were a crucial part of the team long before they jacked your brain up with a whole load of fancy legal mumbojumbo. It's a family. _Your_ family. Your place in it was never dependent on your powers of attorney. And anyway - you still came through this time, didn't y'? Y' still found Framkin's contract.'

But Gunn shook his head. 'I was lost. Didn't know what I was doin'. Lilah found it. She was down in contracts - spyin' on me, I guess, and I told her to help - that it would be quicker if we both worked the case. And then she did all the work.'

'Oh … but it was real quick thinkin' - trickin' Lilah into doin' it for you.'

'Right.' He nodded but didn't sound comforted.

Doyle smiled wryly and poured them both another drink. 'Look - bud - if bein' a lawyer means that much to y' … then Lilah's the answer, isn't she? Look at her! She never got a brain upgrade, she just learned all that stuff from scratch. You never had a superpower - you never had anything someone else couldn't do - you were just given a short cut. Now… now if you wanna keep it, you're gonna have to do it the hard way - but you can still do it. That implant gave you information, Gunn - it didn't make you smarter. If you want it - you can be that way again - you're just gonna have to work for it.'

'What if I forget I want it? If I stop wanting it, if I just go back … Flowers for Algernon.'

'There's nothin' wrong with who you were, Charles,' Doyle told him sternly. 'You're a good man - and that matters way more than any snooty book learnin'. You were given the chance to get what you wanted - and you turned it down 'cause the price was too high. 'Cause you couldn't risk the hurt to someone faceless, nameless, that you don't even know. You learned your lesson from last time and you did the right thing. That is a far greater superpower than anythin' The Senior Partners ever gave you.'

Gunn nodded, but his head was still hanging low - and he was staring at his whisky, not meeting Doyle's eye. 'Yeah - but I can't help thinking - a guy like that? He'll find another way. And I'll have given up my upgrade for nothing. Whatever that price is - it'll still be paid.'

'But now - when that happens - it won't be on you. _Believe me_, Gunn, there will come a time when you will be very thankful for that - to not have this burden to bear. You made the right choice - may not feel it now - but it was - and the day will come when you appreciate that every day for the rest o' your life.'

'Yeah - I'll bear that in mind.' He drained his glass and got to his feet. 'Well - thanks for listening, man - I shouldn't keep you any longer. I know you're busy.'

'Any time - you know you're always welcome here.'

'Doyle - I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to anyone … I'm - I'm not ready for the others to know. Not yet.'

'Of course.'

* * *

Later that night, when the last client had been seen to and sent home, Doyle lay wide awake in bed - staring at the ceiling. Cordelia slept peacefully beside him, tangled up in the sheets, breathing rhythmically. But Doyle couldn't sleep. He was becoming the repository for too many secrets, too many confidences that the team were keeping from each other. Only he had the full picture - or as much of the picture as was currently available - and it didn't look good.

He was keeping Angel's secret about the Circle of the Black Thorn, about the vampire's mission to destroy it and bring down The Senior Partner's. He was keeping the secret that The Senior Partner's had already tried to kill Angel, now he had this knowledge, and that - having failed - they would try other avenues. And now he was keeping the secret that Gunn's brain upgrade, a gift from The Senior Partners, was fading. And he couldn't believe that the two things - the two secrets - were not connected. That it was not all part of the same plan.

He couldn't share this knowledge - let anyone else in on all this - without betraying someone's confidence. Gunn's or Angel's. And if he did so - he may put the whole team in danger. So he had to keep it to himself, for now.

And now - being the only person who could see the whole thing - he was also left alone to worry about what course of action The Senior Partners would take next. If they had already fired two shots - the failsafe and Gunn's fading implant - he could not believe a third would not be following right behind. But he had no idea what form it would take, or how he could stop it. And so he couldn't sleep…

* * *

'Hey, Lilah?' Lilah came to a stop and turned to look at Harmony. Her face was irritated at the interruption, but the blonde vampire didn't notice. 'This came in the mail for you,' she said - holding out a thick envelope, made of glossy, embossed paper. 'Doesn't say who from.'

Lilah took it, without bothering to thank her and walked away, tearing the envelope open and shaking out it's contents. It was a customs form. She read through it and began to frown. A folded note fell from the torn envelope and dropped to the floor. She stooped to pick it up. The crease in her brow deepened as she read: '_Do you want to take out the competition?'_

* * *

**A/N If cavemen got into a fight with astronauts ... next episode is A Hole in The World. Well, we all knew we would have to get here someday and Friday is the day. **


	58. A Hole in the World: Part One

**A Hole in The World**

_Part One_

_Fred took another sweater from her drawer, folded it and packed it into her suitcase. 'I don't see why it has to be this way,' her dad complained, 'there are plenty of good schools in the area.' _

_Fred smiled but did not stop with her packing, she had heard this a hundred times already. 'I know. And I have a nice room and I could meet a nice boy and we could get married and live in my nice room -'_

'_He'd have to be a smallish sort of fella,' her mom said, drily. _

'_\- and we could have sweet little babies that could sleep in the drawer.'_

'_I do not see a downside to this plan.'_

_But that only made Fred laugh. 'Daddy, I love ya like pancakes, but I'm getting the hell outta this place.'_

'_Language!' her mother chided, folding Fred's sweaters again and replacing them back into her suitcase. But her father disagreed. 'She should say it. It's where she's going. Hell. A' _

'_Los Angeles - the city of Angels,' his daughter corrected him. He snorted. 'And if you meet one angel there, I'll eat the dog. A bunch of junkies and spoiled movie actors - that's who you're gonna meet.'_

_She looked disbelieving for a moment. 'In the graduate physics program at UCLA?' _

'_You don't know.'_

_Even his wife was beginning to laugh at him now. 'Honey, why don't you go check the Chevy one more time?' _

'_The chevy's fine,' but he still headed for the door, muttering the whole way. 'I slept in a drawer until I was three, didn't stunt me none.' _

_Once he was gone, Fred looked around the room. 'I know I'm forgetting something.'_

'_Just call us up. We'll drive it up to you. Move in. No problem.'_

'_Mom!'_

'_I'm just scarin' ya.'_

_Fred wrapped her arms around her mom, 'I'll call ya lots,' she promised. Her mom held her back, tightly. 'I know ya will,' she whispered. They broke apart - and then Fred gasped as she remembered what it was she was forgetting. 'Feigenbaum!' She ran across her room and seized her old, stuffed bunny from the shelf he lived on. 'I can't make the trip without him.' _

'_Doesn't look up to the trip.'_

_But Fred shushed her, looking fondly down at the battered old rabbit in her hands. 'He's the master of chaos, he'll love L.A - all my junkie, movie actor friends. _

_Her mom's head came up sharply. 'Don't you joke!' she snapped. And for a moment it sounded like she was having to bite back tears. Her voice continued to tremble - and her eyes shone with unshed tears. 'Now ... you gotta promise me that you're gonna be careful.'_

'_I'm gonna study, mom. I'm gonna learn every damn thing they know up there and then figure out some stuff they don't. And I'll be careful. I'll even be dull, boring. Cross my heart…'_

* * *

… Fred yelled out as she fired her flamethrower - great rivers of flame pouring forth from her weapon and burning up the demon egg sacs she was intent on destroying. The creatures inside them screeched and howled in pain as they died. The whole nest was on fire - and the heat was scorching her skin.

Unnoticed by her, one of the pods clinging to the wall right beside her head opened up - and a creature began to force its way out. BAM. There was the crack of a gunshot- and the creature exploded in a burst of gore. Wesley smiled, his shotgun smoking.

Fred dropped the nozzle of her flamethrower. 'We got the nest,' she told him - a big smile of exhilaration was lighting up her face. Wesley lowered his gun, as well. 'The others are finishing the sweep. Nasty little buggers.'

'Kind of cool, physiologically. They reproduce by vomiting up crystals that attract and mutate the microbes around them to form eggs.'

Wesley grinned, slyly. 'Are you trying to turn me on?'

She grinned back - and took a step towards him. 'It is kind of romantic. A roaring fire. A snug little nest.' She wrapped her arms around his neck and went up on her tiptoes, drawing him into a deep, passionate kiss.

But then the sound of footsteps and bickering interrupted them, and they pulled apart just as Spike entered the cave. 'Fuss fuss. That thing was about to strike. It was on your back. What was I supposed to do?'

Angel followed him into a cave. He had a sword sticking right the way through his torso - and a bug skewered on the tip of it, hanging from his back. 'Tell me to turn around.'

'Heat of the battle, there wasn't time.'

'You just like stabbing me,' Angel snapped.

Spike gasped and looked offended. 'I - I'm shocked - shocked that you'd say that. I much prefer hitting you with blunt instruments.'

'You know I don't even know why you're here - we could handle this.'

'Not what the big guys upstairs thought. Got sent here didn't I? - To fight the good fight. And a bloody good job I did too or else you'd be bug food. So quit your whinging.'

* * *

Alone, late at night in his office - with the door locked, the doctor picked up the phone and dialled. Even by himself, just listening to the ring tone, his face still wore its Cheshire Cat grin. He heard the phone pick up at the other end. 'Well hello there, did she sign it?' he asked without preamble. He listened to the crackling of the other voice down the other end of the line. '... oh I see.' His Cheshire Cat grin grew wider - and more dangerous. 'Well that is a predicament … then I suggest you find another means. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes if a million years worth of plans fail at the last hurdle - on your watch. Let me know how it goes.' Then he hung up without a goodbye.

* * *

Gunn sat at his desk and struggled with the law textbook in his hand. Gilbert and Sullivan was playing 'Three Little Maids' on his CD player. He didn't remember the words - in fact he was even losing sight of why he had put that music on in the first place. It was something … something to do with … he had used to know it. And now it was gone. It was a part of who he had been - the upgraded Gunn, and he wanted to cling onto whatever vestige of that he could. And if that meant learning the words to all of Gilbert and Sullivan's operettas … then at least that would probably be easier than trying to learn every complex strand of every complex school of every complex law all by himself - and with only a tenth grade education of his own to fall back on.

He wrinkled his brow and stared down at the page. He could do this - he had known this once, he could pick it up again if he just … concentrated. '_In addition to the U.S constitution, each of the 50 states has its own constitution, which provides the basis for the states own laws.' _His lips moved, slightly, as he read. '_States can make their own laws as long as they don't conflict with federal law.'_

'Are you alright?'

He looked up in alarm, to see Wesley standing in his doorways, watching him. Hastily, he shoved 'Law for Dummies' under his desk and smiled, reassuringly. 'Yeah - did you want something?'

'I just brought over the report on the Wulffman case - a list of all the enchantments we provide that particular firm with, should help when you broker their merger with the ZX corporation.'

He held out his hand and took it, glancing down at the report. 'Yeah .. thanks. I'll get right on that… merger thing.'

'Are you sure everything's OK, Charles?'

'Why wouldn't it be?' he smiled pleasantly.

'You just seem … distracted lately.'

'Nope - not distracted,' he lied. 'Listen - if you see Lilah hanging around anywhere, could you send her in here? I could do with talking to her.'

Wesley looked uncomfortable. 'Ah - actually … I'm hoping to keep away from Lilah for the time being. Things may be … awkward.'

'Oh - right - you and Fred.'

'You heard about that?'

'It's on every Blackberry in the building. No secrets in the House of Pain.' Well, there was one secret… but he was keeping that. 'I'm happy for you guys - I know how you feel about her ...But just to add the necessary boilerplate - you ever hurt her, I'm gonna kill you like a chicken.'

Wesley smiled, 'acceptable terms.'

'Well I - uh - better get on with looking into this merger,' Gunn said. Wesley nodded and turned to leave the room. Gunn waited until he was gone from sight, and then stuffed the report he'd given him into his desk drawer and took Law for Dummies back out.

* * *

Cordelia yawned and rolled over - and saw Doyle just opening his eyes. 'Mmmm morning,' she whispered, snuggling closer to him.

'Right back at y'.' He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, kissing her on the lips and then smiling softly. 'No clients today.'

'Nope - we got a whole hush going on. Everyone we've spoken to either sorted already or escape pending - nothing to do but wait for the next wave of refugees.'

'So … what are we gonna do with ourselves on our long awaited day off?' He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, and she giggled. She walked two tickling fingers up his chest, 'well I've got one or two ideas…'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah.'

He kissed her again, 'well come on and share 'em. I am completely at your command, Princess.'

'You always are.'

'I always am.' And he rolled her over so he was lying on top of her, whilst she giggled in delight, and began to kiss her much more deeply.

* * *

'It's bollocks, Angel!' Spike yelled. 'It's your brand of bollocks, from the first to the last.' The two of them were shut in Angel's office and had been yelling at each other for the past forty minutes straight. Angel brought his hand up to his brow and rubbed it in frustration. This was just so … _Spike_. 'No. You can't see the bigger picture. You can't see _any_ picture!'

He began to walk away, but Spike followed him. 'I'm talking about something primal, right? Savagery. Brutal animal instincts.'

Angel whirled around so he was facing him again - and stepped right up to his face - yelling into it. 'And that wins out every time with you. You know the human race has evolved, Spike.' He walked away again and leaned against his desk.

'Into a bunch of namby pamby, self analysing wankers who could never hope to -'

He stood back up. 'We're bigger, we're smarter. Plus there's a thing called teamwork, not to mention the superstitious terror of your pure aggressors.'

Spike got right up into his face, going toe to toe with him. '_You_ just want it to be the way you want it to be.'

Angel went up onto his own toes to give him extra height and snapped down into Spike's face. '_It's not about what I want._'

The door creaked open - and Harmony stared at the two vampires stood frozen, glaring daggers into each other's eyes. 'Uh - boss - you're making it hard for the whole second floor to work with your yelling.'

Angel suddenly looked embarrassed, stepped away from Spike and sat back down on his desk. 'Right - sorry.'

'Is it serious?' Harmony asked, 'I could get the team…'

'It was … mostly theoretical.'

Harmony looked bemused. Angel looked more embarrassed. Spike broke the impasse, 'listen, Harm … if cavemen and astronauts got into a fight, who would win?'

The two vampires looked at her expectantly. She stared back at them, regretting ever opening the door, '...um…'

Angel rubbed his brow again. 'Look, Harmony - forget it, OK? Just go … get back on with whatever you were doing.' She gladly shut the door and ran away from the madness. Angel looked at Spike. 'This isn't gonna work. I knew it wasn't gonna work. That's why I asked you here in the first place.'

* * *

Fred sat up in her office going through invoices and order forms for supplies, and signing off reports. This was the less fun part of running a giganimous lab: the paperwork. There was always a mountain of it, and that was to be expected in a lab this size, doing the kind of radical experiments they did here - but that she had to sit there and OK it all and comb over requisition requests and check no one was cooking up a new brand of smallpox on the side was slightly overwhelming.

She signed off one paper and put it to the side, picking up the next sheet on the pile. She read it over and frowned, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. 'Customs form… _what?_' she muttered. She read it through - but once she was done was none the wiser, so she picked up the document and headed down into the lab.

Hey - Knox, did you know anything about this?' she asked.

'What's that?' Her second in command looked up from the microscope he was using and turned to look at her. She handed him the form and he scanned it for a moment. 'What is this?'

'That's what I was asking you,' Fred said. 'I just found it on my desk, in with my other papers. Do you know how it got there?'

He shrugged, 'someone must have put it there. Obviously someone in the company wants you to sign them.'

'Yeah,' she took the forms back and began to read them again.

'So are you gonna sign them?' Knox asked her.

'I dunno - I'd feel better if I knew who put it on my desk.'

'Well, what's it for?'

'Says … ancient sarcophagus.'

He chuckled, 'sounds spooky - you gonna sign?'

She still looked unsure. 'You think I should? This thing could be … anything. If I have it brought into the lab…'

'Well … OK, then.' He turned back to his microscope, getting back on with his work. 'I guess, if you're not curious...'

'Well I didn't say I wasn't curious.'

'You just don't wanna find out what this is all about.'

'No … I just … wanna make sure it's safe.'

He looked up again and shrugged. 'Yeah - OK - that makes sense. No need to put us all in mortal danger. On the other hand…'

'What?' Her brown eyes grew anxious. He smiled at her, affably. 'Well - we're the good guys now. And that sarcophagus … it could be evil. If we have it here in the lab - then we know it's not in the wrong hands, not being put to a use that could harm people. If we leave it out there in the world where anyone can get their hands on it...'

'I see your point.'

'So are you gonna sign it? Keep the world safe from rampaging mummies? Plus -' he glanced around the lab, 'I really think an ancient sarcophagus could be just what this lab needs … really pull the room together. Sartorially, I mean.'

She laughed, 'Knox…'

'But seriously, it could be a really interesting study for us - we could make great leaps in understanding the science behind ancient magics, could be a once in a lifetime opportunity. Don't wanna pass that over.'

'I guess you're right.'

'So are you gonna sign it?' his eyes were eager. It made her laugh again. 'OK - jeez - just for you, I'll sign it. But if we end up getting killed by an ancient demon mummy, I'm blaming you.'

'Acceptable terms.' He watched as she took out her pen and signed on the dotted line. Then she frowned again. 'I don't know what to do with it now.'

He smiled his most affable and crumpled smile and held out his hand for the form, 'don't worry about it, boss, I'll make sure it gets where it's going. You head back up to the salt mines.' He nodded towards her office. She smiled her thanks - and he watched her leave, waiting until she was visible through her office window, sitting back at her desk, before he hurried out of the lab.

* * *

After they'd finally got up, showered, dressed and had a leisurely breakfast of coffee and blueberry pancakes with maple syrup - Cordelia and Doyle decided to make the most of their down time by heading out into the sunshine. They had stopped at a coffee shop and bought some drinks to go and then driven out to Griffith Park - and were now wandering round the green hills, holding hands.

'This is a good day,' Cordelia said, looking up at the bright blue of the sky through her shades.

'The best,' her boyfriend agreed.

'Every day should be like this.'

'Ah - if every day was like this then we wouldn't appreciate it nearly as much. Grabbin' fleeting moments of peace through the craziness - a day here, a weekend there - makes it all so much more special.'

'Isn't every moment with me special?' Her voice had a slight warning edge to it. He laughed, 'you're not trippin' me up on that one, darlin'. Yes - every single moment with you is special. And I wouldn't trade a single one o' them. But not everythin' we _do_ is special. I love y' when I'm takin' out the trash … but I'm still takin' out the trash. But today…' he took a deep breath, and looked around at the trees and the sky and the birds singing away, 'today is special.'

She laughed as well - and squeezed his hand. 'I love you when you're taking out the trash, as well. In fact - I love you more, then - because if you're doing it it means I don't have to.'

'I'm glad to be of service.' He smiled across at her and leaned in for a kiss, and then once they broke apart they continued walking, hand in hand, down the quiet paths - enjoying the sunshine.

* * *

Angel got up from his desk and walked over to the window, staring out. 'Look - I can't do this anymore. You - being here. Where I am. It's not gonna work.'

Spike held his hand to his heart, 'are you saying we should annoy other people?'

'I'm saying you should go.'

Spike raised an eyebrow. 'I only came in here today 'cause you called me. Not like I wanna hang around your monkey operation. I got a life of my own, you know.'

'No - I mean -' he sighed, 'I mean you should leave L.A.'

'Excuse me?'

'I just think it would be best … for everyone.'

* * *

It was barely an hour later, and Fred was still up in her office, when the doors to the lab were flung open - and a pair of delivery men rolled in a huge stone sarcophagus. Knox got to his feet and stared at the relic. 'Is this it?' he asked them, 'from the order form?'

'We got an invoice that says science department, Winifred Burkle.'

'Then this is it …' he ran his hands along the smooth edge of the lid, and looked at the delivery man. 'Are we done here - is there anything else to sign?'

'Already signed for,' they said, and walked out of the lab. Knox looked back down at the artefact - running his hands along it once more. Then he looked up to the window, to where Fred was sitting at her desk working away on her paperwork. He needed to get her down here.


	59. A Hole in the World: Part Two

_Part Two_

Lilah stormed down the hallway, her heels clacking furiously against the wooden floor. 'Get out of my way!' she yelled at a paralegal who just happened to be passing, shoving them from her path. They stumbled and came to stop, staring back at her curiously. She didn't even care - she just continued thundering down the corridor - not looking back.

She was used to being in a bad mood in this place - the years of rivalry with Lindsey and then Gavin, living with the perpetual terror that Holland or Linwood would one day cull her. Plus the continual 'will he won't he snap and kill me' merry dance the dark avenger, himself, had led her on all these years. And that was all without taking into account that period of time where the ludicrous halfbreed had managed to unwittingly undermine her every scheme - and the pure, distilled rage she had felt every time she had contemplated his stupid, smiling face. Yeah - this place was used to seeing her in a foul mood. But never - never - over a rivalry of this sort.

_Gidget. _And Wesley. _Her_ Wesley. Together - at last. Not so much the cutest couple as the gruesome twosome. She slammed a door behind her so hard it reverberated on its hinges, and she continued walking.

Yes, she'd always known Wesley was hopelessly, romantically and impossibly in love with the doe eyed Burkle girl. But it was a stupid love - the kind the poets wrote about but always ended in hopeless tragedy - starcrossed and senseless and utterly avoidable. Only an idiot would want anything to do with that kind of love.

And she had put up with Wesley's crush because she had always known it was stupid. She had overlooked it when they were together, because whilst he dreamed of higher things - he always tumbled back to earth with her. She had him, she knew him. Better than he knew himself and far far better than Fred every would. And at the time it had seemed like Fred wasn't even bothered for knowing him that intimately anyway.

Truth be told - although Lilah had always thought that twinkly Texan face needed a good slap - she had always credited the twig with having more sense than to go for Wes. There was darkness in him that made him different to the other whitehats, he wasn't capital G good the way the rest of them were. He kidnapped babies and kept slave girls chained in cupboards. And slept with the enemy. He was - at best - a Byronic anti-hero. At worst, a super villain waiting to happen. And that was great for a woman like Lilah. But what on earth was a girl like Fred thinking? She was _supposed_ to be a genius. She should know better. Obviously quantum mechanics required different brain muscles to spotting a wrong 'un.

And Wesley - being a man - didn't know himself at all. Not really. Despite all he'd done, despite all he was - he still wanted to be the hero of the piece, the white knight riding in on his charger. And a white knight needed a Guinevere - not a Lilah Morgan La Fay. So of course he wanted Fred more than he wanted Lilah. Not physically - but conceptually. Fred was his damsel; his virtuous, virginal goddess on a pedestal. A symbol of what made the world worth fighting for. A symbol of his own goodness and redemption - if he could have Fred, if he was worthy of her, then he was the hero he craved to be. Sticking with Lilah, going to her bed, it was real - but it got him nowhere in his own fantasies.

Well ...Gidget was gonna learn she didn't really know Wes. And that the real Wes was someone she wasn't gonna hold hands and grow old with. She was gonna learn it the hard way, Lilah knew it. But even so - the thought of them being so happy wrapped up in each other in this honeymoon period pissed her right off. And even when it came to its inevitable tragic ending… now Wes had had Fred, Lilah may never be enough again.

'Wooh - lady, your aura is _screaming,_' Lorne said cheerfully as he passed her in the hall. She glared at him - wishing for once she still had her prosthetic hand, so she could rip it off and throw it right in the green guy's smiling mug.

* * *

Fred had come down from the office and was examining the sarcophagus. Knox watched her, his arms folded across his chest - waiting to see what she would do. She ran her hands along the cold stone of the lid and then looked up at him. 'Did you run a spectral analysis on it?'

He nodded. 'Yeah - everything's bouncing off it … which doesn't thrill me.'

'Well, you were the one who wanted it here.' She bent over the lid to examine the crystals. There were three of them arranged around a circular bronze plate, which was split into several segments. She frowned. 'This looks like it might open,' she said thoughtfully. She turned back to Knox, 'we should get a probe - send a camera in. It's probably just a mummy, but we don't want to be hasty opening it. If we can make a keyhole entry ...'

'We can get inside by cheating.'

'Exactly.'

'You're the sneakiest … and you're going out with Wesley now.'

'Oh … um …' she shuffled awkwardly, 'I wasn't being sneaky I just … I mean you and me was…'

'No no, I wasn't…' he grinned his lopsided, affable smile. 'I wasn't trying to make a thing of it. I just … wanted to get it out there. And I'm totally good with it,' he added hurriedly, snapping his protective goggles on as he spoke. 'I know that I've made … advances.'

Fred shrugged, 'I'm sorry.'

'No!' He took his goggles off again. 'I - I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I love working with you,' he said sincerely, 'and that's enough for me.'

She smiled shyly and looked down at her feet. 'You're sweet.'

There was a moment of awkward silence now this conversation was done, now the information was out there - shared between them, and they weren't sure where to go next. It was Knox that ended the discomfort, 'You want me to get our hazmats on this baby?' he asked - becoming all business once again. Fred smiled with relief, 'yeah - and see if you can find any provenance for it.'

He left the lab - and Fred was left alone with the sarcophagus. She began to study it some more. There was some kind of writing on it - ancient, demonic looking hieroglyphs. She should call Wes up and have him translate them before they started taking a peek inside, it might give them some clues before they did anything dangerous. She smiled happily at the thought of having an excuse to get Wesley into her lab, and at the thought of working closely with him on this one. But rather than pick the phone up straight away, she continued her examination of it. There was just something … fascinating about it. It called to her. The middle crystal was so … shiny. And it looked like… she frowned and squinted closer, it looked like it could be pushed down - depressed into the coffin lid. She didn't even notice her hand reaching out to press it...

...

Cordelia felt a sudden tug on her hand, as Doyle collapsed to the ground right beside her - thumping down like a dead weight. Glancing around to check that no one was watching, she knelt down beside him and held his hand as he spasmed on the floor. His face turned red and a large, throbbing vein stood out on his brow as the pain made him shake and tremble on the floor.

He hissed and brought his free hand up, jamming the palm of it up against his left eye socket - as if trying to stop the images from exploding outward. He saw … _Fred _in her lab. There was something in front of her - huge and stone - a sarcophagus. She was looking at it. _Her hand was reaching out towards it. _

He gave a strangled yell, as if to cry out and warn her not to do it - but she was right the way across town, she couldn't hear him. _She pressed the crystal. The metal disc telescoped open - stale air blew out … Fred breathed it in. _He cried out again. And then he saw a tree, and some warriors. Angel was fighting them. And Fred was dying … and then her hair and eyes turned … _blue_. And when Doyle saw her like that, in his mind's eye, he felt sick with the sudden, icy grip of dread.

...

Fred stepped backwards, as she felt the dusty air enter her lungs, coughing and spluttering. Knox rushed back into the lab and was by her side in an instant, supporting her - as she shook her head and tried to recover from the sudden inhalation of thousand year old mummy fumes. 'What happened?' he asked her.

'I don't know,' she choked. 'It opened, and there was air.' She took a few deep breaths - trying to clear out the old, stale air with clean, fresh oxygen. It had been unpleasant, but it didn't take more than a moment to start to feel right again. 'Are you OK?' he checked.

She nodded, 'I think so … that was odd.' She stared at the sarcophagus - wondering why it had opened up like that, and why it expelled just one blast of air and then stopped. The sarcophagus just sat there, in the middle of the lab, silent and still - and giving away nothing.

* * *

'Better for everyone?' Spike repeated. 'Better for you, you mean.'

Angel shrugged - he wanted Spike gone, he didn't want to argue the toss. They'd just done that for 40 minutes straight. 'Yeah - sure, if that's how you wanna call it.'

'And do remind me again _exactly_ when it was that you were invested with the supreme rulership of the Universe and were given the power to just order a bloke out of an entire city? Or is it smaller than that - just fancy yourself King of L.A do you?'

'Spike - '

'I won't go.'

'Why?' He turned away from the window and looked at the younger vampire. 'What is there for you here? What possible reason do you have to stay?' Spike had always been nomadic - he and Dru, and Angelus and Darla, had travelled the whole globe - crossing continents and oceans and taking what they pleased. Never settling for long in one place - just long enough to cause trouble and then blow town before the rafters fell and the angry mob started to gather. It wasn't until after Dru left him, and he'd got his chip, that Spike had stuck around long term in Sunnydale. It was the first place he'd lived for more than a few months in 120 years. But he stayed there at first to try and get his chip removed … and then later to be close to Buffy.

But that was all in the past now and - whatever Spike wanted from a home, it wasn't as if L.A was the only place that could provide it. Buffy wasn't here - she wasn't in the whole of North America. Spike could go anyplace he wanted - but he wasn't. He was just hanging around. Angel sighed. 'Look - the way I see it - whoever brought you back as a spirit brought you back bound to this place so you would get attached. Get used to being here. They didn't recorporealise you until you were settled, made connections … less likely to leave.'

Spike raised an eyebrow. 'And maybe they did that because they wanted me to stick around in this town - the good fight, yeah? Maybe they wanted me to take over where you left off. Do _your_ job for you.' He knew exactly who it was who had brought him back, and why. Though he wasn't telling Angel-breath that. It wasn't time to tell the great big tit that his oldest friend had double crossed him and was now betting on a different horse. Doyle had been sent to Spike by the PTB - and Angel could pretend Spike was an unwanted, unnecessary third wheel - but he was only fooling himself. That wasn't how the big guys upstairs saw it. Spike was the champion. The resident champion of L.A.

Angel bristled under Spike's words. 'L.A doesn't need you,' he said from between gritted teeth. 'It's defended. It's protected… there are plenty of other defenceless cities out there though - why don't you go and irritate one of them?'

'Oh,' Spike laughed a scornful and disbelieving little chuckle in the back of his throat. 'L.A is protected is it? By the great Angel, no less. No need for little old Spike. Remind me - who is it that works for The Powers That Be? And who is it that works as a shill for The Senior Partners?'

Angel kept his face impassive. There was a time when that low blow would have hit him right where it hurt, made him question everything he was doing here. Not anymore. He knew he was still the champion of The Powers and he knew they were going to use him to take The Senior Partners out. When the dust settled there may not even be a city left standing. He was really doing Spike a favour getting him out of town before it all went down. But he was also doing himself a favour - living this close to Captain Peroxide was driving him mad, the way it always did - whether they were evil or otherwise. 'No surprise Spike, you're missing the bigger picture. Things are a wee bit more complicated than you understand.'

'And I should take your word for that, pack my little bags and be on my merry way then?' He slouched in his chair and snorted. 'You think I don't notice? Don't know what's going on? Can't see that fancy squash racket sitting there in the corner of your office?'

He pointed at the offending item. Angel glanced at it, 'racquetball,' he said, spitting his words out from between his teeth once again.

'Oh I do beg your pardon. The great champion, protecting his city by playing a few rounds of smack-the-wall with his fellow corporate wankers. The Gods themselves do tremble.'

'They should.' He played with Izzy, the red skinned, rams horned acolyte of Lord D'hakmarth - and he did so for good reason. But he wasn't getting into that with Spike right now. He wasn't getting into it with anybody.

'Yeah well, you keep tellin' yourself that, mate. Look into that empty mirror and repeat 'I am not a useless lunk of nothing' until you believe it but me…' he got to his feet and began to stalk towards the door. 'I'll stay away from your shiny, corporate castle. I'll try and stay away from your corporate monster killing - don't wanna affect your bottom line - but hell if I'm gonna be kicked out of the city by a corporate wanker as _useless_ as you. You work your side of the track, Angel - I'll work mine.' And he flipped his grandsire the bird and left, slamming the door behind him.

Angel sighed. _Idiot_.

'Hey, Lorne,' he heard Spike's voice float through from the lobby. 'If cavemen and astronauts got into a fight - who do you think would win?'

Double. _Idiot_.

* * *

Cordelia pressed down on the gas and pulled out, zipping between the lines of traffic that blocked the way between where they were and Wolfram and Hart. Doyle sat in the passenger seat, scribbling furiously on the back of an old envelope he had pulled out from the depths of his jacket pocket. She gave him a sidewards glance. 'Are you OK?'

'Uhuh…' he crossed something out and started writing again.

'That vision … it was longer than normal.'

'I got a lot o' information. Too much - hence …' he raised the envelope to indicate where he was writing down everything he could remember. 'This is too important to forget somethin' crucial. But it's complicated. This isn't y' run o' the mill - damsel in distress- type call to duty. This is part of the chess game.'

'The chess game?' She frowned, not understanding - pulling in and undertaking a car that was driving slowly in the outside line. She shook her head at the driver as she passed them.

'The eternal chess game. Good and evil, balancin' the scales. The PTB vs The Senior Partners. Us vs them. It's all comin' to a head, the game is comin' into check - and we gotta make sure that we get the checkmate.'

'And this vision … was about Fred?' Cordelia asked, her voice went quiet and frightened as she named her friend.

'It was,' he nodded.

'And she ... she was dying?'

'She is.'

'Can we save her?'

But that question he didn't answer. He just shook his head, not knowing what was going to happen. He stared out of the car for a moment, watching the buildings rush by - and then went back to scribbling on his envelope.

Cordelia pressed her foot down harder on the gas - and drove even faster.

* * *

Fred and Lorne walked along the balcony headed for the stairs down to the lobby, deep in discussion. 'But that doesn't make any sense,' she said, frowning as she thought through the problem.

'I just call it like I see it.'

'But the cavemen have fire. That's what they live with in their caves. The astronauts should at least have some sort of weapon.' She noticed Wesley climbing the stairs and her whole face lit up. 'Hey there.'

He was smiling as well. 'I was just on my way to thinking up an excuse to come and see you,' he told her.

'And how is that working out?'

'Really great.' He climbed the last stair, just as she came to a stop. 'Where are you coming from?'

'Oh medical,' she said breezily, still smiling. 'I breathed some old mummy dust. Had to make sure I didn't discover any new germs.'

He took hold of her arm, immediately concerned. 'You all right?'

'They shooed me right off,' she assured him, 'mummy free.'

The concerned look left his face and his expression became flirtatious again. He stepped closer to her. 'Good - I was hoping to take you out tomorrow night and I don't feature you wrapped in bandages.'

Her smile grew wider, her delight making her skin glow so she looked like she was being illuminated from the inside. 'Take me where?'

'Can it be a secret?'

'Oh sheesh,' Lorne - having been thoroughly edged out of the conversation already - was done listening to the lovebird's flirtathon. He pushed his way between them, 'get a balcony you two, huh?'

They both giggled as he walked away down the stairs. 'You'll still find me for lunch though, right?' Fred called after him.

He paused in his tracks and turned back to her - at her face wreathed in smiles and alight with happiness. When it was all over - when it was all done - this was a moment that he would keep forever, store away in his soul like a treasure and never let go of. But they weren't there yet. 'I'll just look where the sun shines. _You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…' _he sang at her, as he started to walk away again

Fred leaned towards Wesley - '_you make me happy…'_

Lorne stopped dead and turned. Horror and despair, and dread and sickness tore into his heart and etched their way onto his face.

And then Fred coughed up blood - spitting it right into Wesley's face. Her whole body shook and spasmed and then she was thrown down the stairs by some unseen force within her.

Lorne managed to catch her and she lay in his arms, limp and lifeless - when just moments before she had been effervescent and glowing with delight. Wesley rushed down the steps to her side and helped support her. Her skin was waxy, her breathing was shallow and her eyes were closed tight. He stared around wildly. 'Get medical,' he yelled as loud as he could, his voice cracking with desperation and fear. 'Someone get medical NOW.'


	60. A Hole in the World: Part Three

_Part Three_

Fred woke up in bed in the medical wing, the blanket pulled right up to her chin. She rolled her head on the pillow and looked up blearily. Angel and Wes and Gunn were in there with her, along with Lorne and Knox - all gathered around her bed. Even Cordy and Doyle were there. It must be bad if they had been called in. 'I'm a mummy, aren't I?' She frowned.

'You sure gave us a big scare, Freddles,' Lorne said, sitting down on the edge of her bed and taking her hand.

'You just need to rest,' Angel told her. 'The lab are doing some bloodwork.'

'And Cordy and Doyle just dropped by for a cup of coffee?' She said drily, 'right - what's really happening?' The team all exchanged worried glances. She smiled to herself - big fakers - pretending everything was OK. Too brave and strong and protectory to worry poor little Fred with the details. 'Come on - you can tell me.'

'You're sick,' Gunn said. But he smiled and he kept his tone light. As if this was just the flu or something, no big deal. 'And you're making it worse by worrying.'

That made her chuckle - though it hurt her chest to laugh. Charles was trying but ... the look on their faces; whatever was working its way through her system - a little bit of fretting was neither gonna help or hinder it. Whatever was happening to her, nothing she could do could change its course.

'We've got the sarcophagus under the microscope,' Knox said to her. 'If it gave you anything - we'll isolate it in a few hours.'

'So you don't know what it is?'

'_Yet_,' Angel said defiantly. 'We're gonna work this. Shouldn't take too long.'

'Handsome man saves me.'

'That's how it works… let's get cracking.' He turned to leave the room. Knox followed him out. Lorne squeezed her hand and then got up and headed for the door. Cordy stroked her forehead and smiled down at her, 'feel better, sweetie,' and then she and Doyle were gone. Gunn sat down on the bed - held her hand for a moment. She smiled at him - trying to be brave - and he smiled back. He was trying to be brave too - she could see it in his eyes. Then he glanced up at Wesley, nodded at him and relinquished the place on the bed to her boyfriend.

Wesley sat down, holding her right hand with his left and tenderly stroking her hair away from her brow with his right. 'Get cracking,' she tried to joke. 'He's such an old fogey.' Wesley didn't say anything, he just held her hand and looked into her eyes, his own filled with softness and love … and fear. He was hiding it away but she could see it. She smiled for him. She didn't want him to have to be afraid. 'I know you have to go be bookman,' she said quietly.

'Yes - just hit that line, and I'll be here in a heartbeat.'

'Assuming I still have one.'

'Shhh,' he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

...

Angel watched them from the doorway. 'Wes and Fred?' he asked. Gunn looked at him, 'you didn't know?'

'I didn't know.'

* * *

The team gathered in the lobby. 'How is she handling it?' Angel asked Wesley.

'She's smarter than all of us put together. She knows it's bad.'

'How bad is it? What do we know?' Gunn asked, looking around at the others. They stood in a circle, contemplating the loss of one of their own - the possibility of a death in the family - whilst the rest of Wolfram and Hart just carried on like normal around them.

The answer was they didn't know much. Whatever was infecting her didn't match up with any of the pathogens in the firm's archives. It was mystical - but it wasn't theirs. And Wesley had his team already cross checking the symbols on the sarcophagus - but it would take time, it was new territory for them. Angel had spoken to the doctor - he looked less than keen to give them the news on the medical front. 'Some parasitic agent is working its way through - uh - I mean … as far as they can tell…'

'Get to the point,' Wesley said.

'Her organs are cooking. In a day's time, they'll liquefy.'

Cordelia gasped and raised a hand to her mouth, 'not Fred. Not after everything…'

'Hey - she's a fighter, yeah?' Doyle said to his girlfriend, 'she survived five years in a cave and bein' on the run from Jasmine. She's strong - even by herself. And today she's got every one of us pullin' for her.'

'Right,' Angel nodded, 'we need to work every angle. Wes you gotta find out what was in that box, a name, a history, anything. Knox - keep the lab working on it, anything you get off that sarcophagus. Gunn - I need you to get up to the white room, speak to the conduit. Beg, plead, sell your soul - I don't care - just get The Senior Partners to help.' He looked around at them all.

'You don't have to say it,' Wesley said.

'I'm gonna say it anyway … Winifred Burkle. Go.' They separated out.

...

Doyle pulled on Angel's sleeve and dragged him into a corner. 'What?' Angel hissed, 'now's not the…'

'Listen, man, my vision… I don't think Gunn's gonna have much luck upstairs with the big guys.'

'Why?'

'It's part of their game. This is their next move - to destroy you…'

'They're going after Fred?'

'They're upsettin' the balance - and that happens to be through Fred this time, yeah. Listen. The Powers think we can stop this - they want us to stop it - they gave me all this information.' He reached into his pocket and pulled out the battered envelope with all his scribblings on it, handing it across to Angel. 'But … there's somethin' else. Somethin' big. Important. And I can't remember what it was.'

'Then get remembering.' He pocketed the envelope himself, thinking he would show it to Wesley - see if it would aid his research. He stepped out of the corner, and came face to face with Lorne and Cordy. 'Tell him,' Cordy said.

Lorne looked uncomfortable. 'I didn't wanna say anything in front of Wesley - history, jealousy, bad vibes all round but…'

'What?'

'I got a belly full of Lilah's aura earlier. And she is not a happy bunny. If you were looking for someone who might want to be hurting Freddikins right now - you could do worse than starting with her.'

Angel nodded grimly. Doyle said that this was a move by The Senior Partners. She was their liaison... 'Fine, let's see what Lilah Morgan has to say for herself.'

* * *

Fred lay in her hospital bed, watching the saline drip feed into her arm. She felt like she was drying out. Her skin was turning grey and blotchy. She needed to rest and let the others work. She needed to be brave so they could work without worrying about her. And then they would save her. She just needed to be brave.

* * *

Wesley opened up his template and watched as the words from the text he had just summoned spread across the blank pages. He began to read. There was a knock on the door and a lawyer stuck his head round. 'I'm sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to know if the Holbine clan history was here. It was supposed to be faxed to my office.'

'It can wait,' Wesley said, shortly, not even looking up.

The lawyer looked put out. 'These guys are really important. I just need - look, the whole company can't be working Miss Burkle's case.'

Wesley glanced up then, 'of course.' He took a gun from his desk and summarily shot the lawyer through the knee without warning. The lawyer fell to the ground, crying out in agony. A secretary came running in to see what was going on. Wesley spoke to her, 'Jennifer, please send anyone else who isn't working Miss Burkle's case to me.' Then he put the gun down and got on with his reading.

* * *

Gunn stood in the space that wasn't really there, it was blindingly white as always - and completely deserted. 'Hello?' he called out. For all he couldn't see anybody, he could feel them - watching him. 'Look, I know there's someone in here and it aint just me…'

He was struck in the face by a fist and fell to the ground. When he looked up - it was to see his own form standing above him, glowering down at him. 'Well, look at that, it is just me.' He got back to his feet.

'You don't want to be here,' the conduit told him.

'I never want to be here. What happened to the cat?'

'The physical form of the conduit is determined by the viewer.'

'So I'm looking at myself because…?'

'I think you know … you are failing.'

Gunn felt his heart sink. He knew it. He didn't have to look at himself to be told all that he was losing. 'This isn't about me.'

'I believe you think that … you still dare come here?'

'For her.' The two Gunns were circling each other - staring into each other's eyes. 'You can't let this happen to Fred.'

'This is the part where I need to be clear.' The conduit punched him hard in the chest, sending him flying backwards through the room. He landed on the ground and the other Gunn bore down on him, fire and anger and danger brimming in his eyes. 'I am not your friend. I am not your flunkey. I am your conduit to The Senior Partners and they are tired of your insolence. _Oh yeah_. They are not here for your convenience.'

'I didn't come for a favour.' He got back to his feet, 'we can make a deal.' He knew there would be a price. But for Fred … it would be a price worth paying. And he would bear it - no matter what. 'You want someone else - a life for hers - take mine.'

But that only made the conduit laugh. 'They already have yours.'

* * *

Lilah suddenly felt a hand seize around her throat. 'Lilah, a word in my office. Now.' She rolled her eyes. The dark avenger had wrapped his mitts around her neck and then failed to snap it too many times for it to bother her in the slightest, but she followed him into his office. As he closed the door behind them, she felt herself be dragged over to the desk and pinned against it - and when she looked up it was into the furious brown eyes of Cordelia. 'Cordelia …' she glanced over the slayer's shoulder, 'and her halfbreed. To what do I owe the pleasure?'

'You see, Lilah,' Angel said to her, standing beside Cordy and glowering. 'Fred's sick. Some kind of mystical parasite - we don't know what it is, or where it came from, but it's working it's way through her system - cooking her insides. If we don't stop it, she has less than a day to live … and Lorne, here, tells me your aura is _very_ interesting right now.'

'_What?_' She gave a small laugh, 'you can't be serious. You think I'm - what? - Poisoning Fred?'

'Well - turns out things have got a lot more intimate between her and Wes of late … and I know you have that whole little school girl crush going on with him.'

She rolled her eyes, 'so you think I'm doing this out of _jealousy_?'

'Hell hath no fury, Lilah.'

'Oh please! Give me some credit.'

'Here's the thing,' Doyle suddenly interrupted from in the back. His arms were folded across his chest and his eyes were narrowed as he watched Lilah closely. 'I got reason - good reason - to believe The Senior Partners know exactly what's goin' on with Fred, right now. And … you're their liaison. So, if anyone down here knows what's up, should be you, I'm thinkin'.'

'I don't know how many times I have to tell you people I work for The Senior Partners, I don't lunch with them. But fine,' she held her hands up and began to smirk, 'tell me what I need to do to convince you that I'm not the one sending poor, little Dorothy off to that big ol' place in the Texas sky.' She turned her voice into a Texas drawl and then sniggered appreciatively at her own impression.

BAM! A fist lashed out and struck Lilah right in the face, wiping the smirk from it and knocking her back against the desk. Everyone turned to look at Lorne in surprise, as he shook out his fist. 'Ooh. oh - I'm sorry, that was a knuckle buster! I'm Jake LaMotta over here, it's pathetic. Ow.'

Then he leaned forward, planting one hand either side of Lilah and pinning her to the desk. His face was grim. 'This is how it's gonna work, Lilah. You're gonna sing for me, and I'm gonna read you. But before we start, I'm just gonna let you know that Winifred Burkle once told me - after a sinful amount of Chinese food and in lieu of absolutely nothing - "I think a lot of people would choose to be green. Your shade - if they had the choice." If I hear one note - one quarter note - that tells me you had any involvement, the two superheroes here won't even have time to kill you.' He stepped back, allowing her up. 'Oh - and anything by Diane Warren will also result in your death - well, except Rhythm of the Night.'

'This is ridiculous,' Lilah scowled.

'Start singing, sunshine,' Cordelia told her. She flexed her hand as if aching to thump Lilah with it, the other woman glanced at it - and decided to do as she was told. With yet another roll of her eyes, she began to sing. '_You had plenty money nineteen twenty two. You let other women make a fool of you..' _

Lorne shook his head. 'She's got her fingers in plenty of pies alright - but she's not responsible for Fred … you were right about it being her who put those brain scrambling slugs on you a while back, though, Angelcakes.'

The vampire folded his arms, 'well - we'll put a pin in that for now - she's clean?'

'She doesn't know what's happening.'

'I told you!' Lilah said.

'But there's something - she knows without knowing. Gimme another line, Jessica Rabbit.'

'Really?' But then she spotted Cordy's hand balling into a fist. '_Why don't you do right? Like some other man do...'_

'What is it?' Angel asked, looking between Lilah and Lorne. The anagogic demon frowned. 'Tell us about the customs forms,' he said to the liaison. Everyone else turned to stare at her, expectantly.

'The customs forms? You mean the ones that came in the mail?'

Doyle shuffled his feet, adjusting his balance, and stared at her intently. 'Who sent 'em?'

'They didn't come with a return address. Only thing with them was an anonymous note… telling me I could sign the forms and get rid of my competition. Whatever that was supposed to mean.'

'Fred,' Cordelia said, 'Fred is her competition.'

'This was a deliberate hit,' Angel nodded. 'So - you signed the forms?'

Lilah snorted. 'An anonymous piece of mail with an ominous note asking me for a favour? Are you insane? You don't survive a place like this for ten years by signing any piece of paper that gets waved under your nose. I didn't know it's provenance, I didn't know what their game was - and no way of checking it out. I enjoy a dastardly scheme as much as the next woman, but I like to know who I'm getting into bed with before I sign on the dotted line. I wasn't touching that thing with a ten foot pole, I could have been signing anything. Only an idiot would fall for that ruse. Or a white hat.'

'Right, Doyle, Lorne -' he looked around at his two friends, 'we need to find out where this customs form came from - who sent it. Find them. Lilah - what was it for? A sarcophagus?'

'Uhuh - of the ancient relic variety.'

'But no clues as to what civilisation it came from? Or when?'

She shook her head. 'But if that thing's in the building now then Wesley should be able to find out all that stuff in minutes. Everything's in our archives.'

'Not this.'

'No, you don't understand. _Everything_ is in our archives. If this isn't in the books then that's because this thing predates books. That means this goes back to what came before, The old ones… and this sarcophagus must have come from the Deeper Well.'

'The what?' Angel looked blank. But beside him, Cordelia gasped in recognition. 'I know about this!' she said, 'Giles gave me and Doyle loads of texts on the Old Ones - old scrolls all bound together. I was reading one of them, remember?' she turned to her boyfriend. 'It was a list of all the Old Ones buried in this well - I put it to one side because it wasn't what we needed.'

'What was the book called?' Angel asked her. She screwed her face up as she tried to remember. 'Um … oh .. the Dreadhost's book of … no wait. The Dreadhost's compendium of … something. Ugh! I can't remember.'

'Immortal leeches,' Lilah said.

'Takes one to know one,' Doyle muttered. But the Liaison shook her head. 'That's what it's a compendium of, dummy. That's the book you want.'

The team all looked at each other. 'Get Wesley,' Angel said.

* * *

'Illyria,' Wesley slammed his book down on the desk and laid it open for all the others to see. 'That's what it's called. A great monarch and warrior of the demon age, murdered by rivals and left adrift in the Deeper Well.'

'That's a resting place for all the Old Ones who died back before men,' Cordelia told the rest of the group. 'A lot of them were cast from this dimension - the last one by the very first slayer - but they had been dying for aeons before that. Killing each other. I read all about it in the books Giles gave me.'

'Only now this one's woken up and started infectin' people?' Doyle said, 'doesn't make sense.'

But Wesley shook his head. He didn't think what was affecting Fred was a mere infection. Her skin was hardening like a shell. He thought she was being hollowed out, so this thing could gestate inside of her and use Fred's body to claw its way back into the world. Though that was only speculation - either way, Fred died.

'Do we have a shot at finding this well?' Angel asked. But the book held that information. Wesley had the exact coordinates. It was in England, in the Cotswolds.

'Lorne, have Harmony prep the jets, I can be there in ten hours.'

'You can be there in four,' Knox said, from the doorway. Everyone stared at him, '... we have really good jets.'

Angel nodded. 'Knox - get back to the lab, anything that can slow this down - give us more time - get on it.' The scientist nodded and turned to leave and Angel looked around at his family. 'Is there anything else?'

'This well may have a guardian, maybe several,' Wesley told him.

'Then I'll take an army. Cordy, you come with me. Gunn - ring Spike, get him back here - get him on that jet. We need all the muscle we can get. Then you and Doyle get on that customs form. Once we're done saving Fred - I wanna know exactly who is to blame for this. And then I wanna peel their skin off... slowly. Wes … I know I don't have to tell you to be with Fred. Don't let her be alone in this.'

'And if anybody doesn't think it's too ridiculous, I think I'll pray,' Lorne said. Wesley shook his head. 'No, it's appreciated. Time is not on our side.'

Gunn had scrunched his face up, 'I don't wanna be the voice of doom - y'all know I love Fred - but... We send an army to the well. Then what? How will that do squat?'

'The well is like a prison for the dead,' Wesley explained to him, 'If something gets out, it's written it can be drawn back from the source.'

'So that's what we do,' Angel said.

The watcher nodded. 'I'll keep working on things here, but yes - I believe that is our best shot -'

Doyle suddenly brought his hand up to his head - as he felt a vision pain jab into his skull. It wasn't as intense as usual, and he just gasped as he felt the information pour into his mind. This was just a rerun of what they had told him before, the crucial information he had not been able to remember - given back to him just in the nick of time. Perhaps The Powers really were on their side today. 'You gotta take Fred with y',' he said, looking up at Angel. 'I don't know why - but I know her life depends on it. You gotta take Fred back to that well, man.'

* * *

Wesley went to Fred - but when he reached the medical bay he found her bed empty, the covers thrown back and no sign of her anywhere. He found her in the lab - working alone. Her skin was grey and cracking, she looked exhausted, her breathing was laboured, but she was standing at her workbench - like the hero she was - searching for her own cure.

'Fred, you can't be doing this.'

She looked up at him and he saw the desperation and the fear in her eyes - and the determination as well. 'I am exactly the person to be doing this. Something could have been missed.'

'We think we might have found a way to stop it - you just have to let us.'

'Let you stop it. For me. I - I am not some damsel in distress,' she knocked a glass beaker off the bench in her anger, and tears sprung up in her eyes. 'I am not some _case_. I have to work this. I lived in a cave for five years in a world where they killed my kind like cattle. I am not gonna be cut down by some monster flu. I am better than that!' She broke off and gasped for breath, choking back her tears. 'But I wonder …' Her voice became soft, barely audible, '... at how very scared I am.'

Wesley took a step towards her. 'I swear to you - we will stop this,' he fought to keep the tremble out of his own voice, 'but I need you to come with me.'

'Back to bed, like a child?'

'You need to rest. The only way you can fight this is to rest. We will do everything else, I swear.'

She had stood for too long, her legs grew too weak and she collapsed. Wesley caught her in his arms and held her close. 'This is a house of death,' she said, looking around her lab as if with brand new eyes. As if really seeing it for the first time. 'Wesley, take me home.'

He swept her into his arms. 'It's not you going home, I'm afraid. It's Illyria.'


	61. A Hole in the World: Part Four

_Part Four_

Spike and Angel sat either side of the aisle in the Wolfram and Hart jet. It must have had necrotempered glass in the windows too, as the sun was shining brightly outside and the sky was blue as they flew high above the clouds. Spike gripped tight hold of his armrests and looked uncomfortable. 'I've never flown before,' he admitted.

'I've been in a helicopter,' Angel peered out of the window, '... It didn't go this high.'

Spike turned to look towards the back of the jet, where a bed had been set up for Fred in the lounge area. She was still hooked up to a saline drip, whilst Cordelia continually monitored her vitals. Wesley held onto her hand and read from his book.

'Why's Cordy here anyway? What's Doyle up to?' the vampire asked.

'Doyle?' Angel frowned, wondering why Spike would stop to wonder about the Irishman - as far as he knew, the pair of them had never met - save for that time very long ago when Spike was hunting for the Gem of Amara. And he didn't know that they'd ever been properly introduced. 'He's helping Gunn track down who's responsible for this. That's where his strengths lie - he's well connected. Cordy's good with the medical stuff - plus she's a slayer. We need her with us.'

'Wait. What? … Cordelia's a _vampire slayer_?' Spike wrinkled his brow, 'then I don't understand,' he muttered under his breath.

'Understand what?'

'What? Oh … nothing.' He slumped down in his chair and went quiet, wondering why Doyle would go to all the trouble to bring Spike back from the dead so he could be the champion of L.A … when his own girlfriend was the slayer. 'So … uh … how come you wanted me to come along? Thought it wasn't working out between us?'

'This isn't about you - or me - there's gonna be something guarding that well when we get there and I wanna bring it down as quickly as possible, so we can get to saving Fred. I can't do that by myself… and I can't lose her.'

...

The sunlight flickered through the windows as the jet flew, throwing light onto Fred's face, she twisted in her makeshift bed and woke up. Wesley was sitting next to her, she smiled up at him - though her smile was weak. 'Here I am in bed, and all you want to do is read.'

Wesley looked up, and caught Cordelia's eye. She nodded and went up front to speak with Angel, leaving the two lovers alone. 'You dozed off,' Wesley said gently, once she was gone. 'Did I make too much noise?'

Fred shook her head against the pillow. 'I need noise to keep me here.' She took a deep breath, her chest rattled. 'Is it today? I mean -'

'You only slept for an hour.'

'That's an hour I don't got now.'

'We're on our way. Your cure is at the end of this journey, I promise. And Angel, Cordy and Spike are all here to make sure that nothing gets in your way. I shouldn't like to be the thing that has to face them.'

Fred suddenly sat bolt upright and looked around anxiously, scooching further up the bed. 'Feigenbaum,' she said, anxiously.

'What?'

'I - I have to find him,' her voice was trembling and she was panicking as she realised she was missing something important, leaving something behind. 'He's the master of - I have to have him here.'

'Who is Feigenbaum?'

She froze. She knew she needed him, but her mind was blank - she couldn't find him there. He was too long gone. 'I - I don't remember.' Her face crumpled and she began to cry, her small and frail body wracking with sobs for all she had already lost and all she was about to lose.

Wesley wrapped her arms around her and held her close to his heart. She rested her head on his chest and lifted a hand to wipe away her tears. 'Isn't it terrible? At a time like this I'm worried about how crappy I look.'

'You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.'

'Do you always like splotchy girls?'

'It's my curse.'

She breathed a laugh through her tears. 'Read to me?'

He glanced back at his book, 'the Dreadhost's Compendium of Immortal Leeches?'

'Can't that be any book in the world?'

'Name one.'

...

When Cordelia glanced back from the front of the jet, she saw Fred lying back down on the bed, listening to Wesley read. 'She was such a little girl that one did not expect to see such a look on her small face. It would have been an old look for a child of twelve, and Sara Crewe was only seven. The fact was, however, that she was always dreaming and thinking odd things and could not herself remember any time when she had not been thinking things about grown-up people and the world they belonged to. She felt as if she had lived a long, long time.'

Cordelia turned back - and brushed a tear from her eye. So often she felt like she had lived a long, long time, as well: seen too many things, fought too many battles, suffered too many losses along the way. But now that was thrown into stark relief. It was no time at all. Nowhere near enough. And Fred had lived no time at all, as well - nowhere near what she was due, what she deserved. And if all that ended today… Cordelia shook her head. Not today. Not Fred. And not today.

* * *

'So what? We go down to the docks? Customs and excise? See if anybody knows anythin' about who ordered this ancient doohickey?' Doyle asked. He and Gunn were shut up in Gunn's office - waiting. He was pacing up and down anxiously.

'Man, I don't know,' Gunn groaned. 'This is the kind of thing I just used to know how to do: knew exactly which buttons to press; knew where to check for paperwork; knew exactly what protocols and precedents to quote at people to make 'em real nervous … and now I'm stuck back on learning the difference between state and federal law.' He sighed and looked up at the pacing Irishman. 'I'm useless in all this. If I'd taken that upgrade … I could be more help to Fred right now.'

Doyle stopped in his tracks and looked back at Gunn. The younger man shrugged. 'Well it's true. Brain boosted Gunn could have sorted this in a minute. Regular Gunn - the muscle - well, let's just hope there's something that needs hitting. 'Cause I got nothing else.'

'Maybe Lilah can point us in the right direction.'

'Maybe - but she's evil at the best of times. And she got her own reasons to hold a grudge against Fred. You really gonna trust her to see us right on this?'

It was Doyle's turn to shrug. 'We gotta trust someone - that's why we're waitin' here.'

The door opened and Lilah walked in, the paperwork in her hand. Both men rushed over to her. 'This is it,' she told them, 'the mysterious customs forms. These are the ones they sent me - they must have had more copies if someone eventually signed one.' She handed them to Doyle, who glanced down at them, scanned through and found no clues. He handed them across to Gunn and turned back to Lilah. 'Lilah - look - I know you're not our friend, I know you don't like us, I know the past five years of your career has been dedicated to bringing us down but … _please_, is there _anythin' _you can tell us that will help speed up findin' out who's behind all this? Any hints you can give as to where we should at least start lookin'?'

'We don't need any hints,' Gunn said slowly. Doyle turned back to look at him. He had been staring down at the customs forms in his hands - reading through them - and now he looked back at the others. 'I've seen these forms before. I know exactly where they've come from.'

* * *

The jet had landed. Fred and Wesley were left on the plane, with Cordelia standing guard to protect them, whilst Spike and Angel went forth to find the Deeper Well. They walked through the woods, it was dark - and everything looked exactly the same as everything else. Grass, trees, sky … no well.

'When is a door, not a door,' Spike said, as if telling a riddle, 'when it's not sodding there.'

But Angel pulled him to a stop and pointed at a hollow opening in the largest of the trees, 'right there - you wanna bet that's the entrance to the Deeper Well?'

'Either that or the entrance to Christmas Land,' he saw the look Angel gave him, 'oh, don't you ever have any fun?'

There was a sudden flash of light from the hollow - and a whole swarm of armed guards came running out towards them. 'I'm about to.'

'They even brought us weapons - do we have a strategy?'

'Just hold my hand.' Angel held his hand out, Spike raised an eyebrow, but reached out and took it. A look of understanding crossed his face. 'St. Petersburg.'

'I'd thought you'd forgotten.'

As the guards rushed towards them, they suddenly dropped hands and stepped apart - pulling a lethal piece of wire between them. The first few of the guards ran through it and were sliced in two; their bisected bodies dropping to the ground along with their weapons. The vampires picked up the fallen swords and turned on the rest of the rampaging warriors, hacking and slashing and stabbing and beheading. All though there were dozens of them - the two were more than a match and they made short work of the defenders of the well. 'Is that all?' Angel yelled at the sky, as the last two guards fell, 'we haven't even started.'

'I'd say that was enough.' A young looking man with long hair and dressed in animal skins stepped out from the hollow of the tree. Angel looked surprised when he saw him. 'Drogyn.'

'Angel,'

'You're the keeper of the well.'

'For many decades now.'

Spike looked between the two men, feeling he was missing out on something. 'Well who the bloody hell is…'

Drogyn's face suddenly changed, becoming angry - and he stepped up so he was glaring right into Spike's eyes. 'Do not ask me questions. If you ever ask me a question, I will kill you outright. Do not think I cannot do it.'

'He can and he will,' Angel told the younger vampire. Drogyn nodded and stepped back. He looked between them, sizing up the two champions - and understanding what it was that brought them here. 'You are here about Illyria.'

'Yes.'

'Walk in,' he turned and headed to the tree.

'But how -' Spike burst out in frustration. Drogyn spun back again, his face angry once more: 'I just said to you, not one moment ago. Don't. Ask.' He turned and walked inside the hollow of the tree.

Spike looked at Angel in confusion. 'Seriously, he doesn't like questions,' Angel told him with a shrug.

'Well why the bloody hell not?'

'He can't lie.'

* * *

As always, the doctor's office was gloomy. The waiting room was silent - and the two men barged straight into the surgery without bothering to knock. The doctor looked up, his Cheshire Cat grin widening when he saw who it was. 'Back so soon, Mr. Gunn? Decided you might want to cut a deal after al-'

Gunn's fist whipped out and struck the doctor square in the face. He fell backwards off his stool and then felt two pairs of arms grip him under his own arms and haul him across the office. He was thrown into his operating chair and pinned down there. He looked up into the glowering faces of Gunn and this unknown, scruffy little man with a lot of chest hair. He kept on smiling. 'Oh my - what's going on here?'

'You're gonna tell us exactly what was in that sarcophagus,' Gunn told him, 'and you're gonna tell us exactly what is happening to Fred.'

* * *

Wesley lay down on the makeshift bed beside Fred and held her wrapped in his arms. Cordelia stood outside the jet - giving them their privacy - guarding them from whatever might be out there. But there was no guard against the grief, or the pain inside their hearts. 'Will you read to me some more?' Fred asked him, her voice was croaky now.

'Of course,' he pulled away from her to reach for the book, but she cried out - and he forgot it at once, turning back to her. 'The light… hurts my eyes.' She threw her arm across her eyes to try and shade them, 'but I don't want you to turn it off. But it hurts my eyes. Everything's so bright and hollow.' She shook her head. 'Cavemen win. Of course the cavemen win.'

* * *

Drogyn led the two vampires down into the Deeper Well, carrying a flaming torch to light the way. 'I'll tell you as much as I can,' he said. 'The Old Ones were demons pure. They warred as we would breathe - endlessly. The greater ones were interred, for death was not always their end. Illyria was feared and beloved as few are. It was laid to death in the very depths of the well … until it disappeared a month ago.'

Spike tutted. 'Someone took it from under your nose a month ago and you didn't miss it until now? That makes you quite the crap jailer doesn't it…' Drogyn turned to him angrily, and he flung his hands up, 'statement not a question.'

'Your friend likes to talk,' Drogyn said to Angel.

'So much he's even right some times. The man I remember couldn't be stolen from so easily.'

Drogyn came to a stop. He extinguished his torch in a pool of water and turned to the vampires. 'The tomb was not stolen. It disappeared. I believe it was predestined to as part of Illyria's escape plan. And as for my not noticing…' he led them through into a chamber and then out onto a wooden bridge, suspended by ropes. 'Well, my charges are not few.'

Angel and Spike peered over the side of the bridge - they were standing at the top of a cavern; an endless pit that stretched down so far into the darkness that there was no telling it's depths. The walls were studded with coffins and tombs just like the sarcophagus that had been brought to Wolfram and Hart.

'Bloody hell,' Spike breathed - peering down.

'How far does this go down?' Angel asked Drogyn.

'All the way down. All the way through the earth.'

'So the coffin disappeared, teleported. But it was brought to us.'

Drogyn nodded solemnly. 'Illyria was a great power. So great that, after millions of years dead, somewhere on this earth it still has acolytes.'

* * *

The doctor was still smiling - so wide it almost split his face in two. Doyle could only hope it was a smile of panic, at being cornered by two men who clearly meant him harm, but he feared it was a smile of wicked delight. The doctor was enjoying their pain and their anger, and their fear. He was getting off on being threatened by them. 'My, my gentlemen, so fierce - and so pointless. This was all set in motions aeons ago. Millions of years - before time was time. And no matter what you do to me … there's no way to stop it.'

'We'll be the judge of that,' Gunn told him, glowering down. He picked up one of the drills and pressed the switch - making it emit its high pitched whine. 'Now get talking.

'And say what?' He laughed - a twisted chuckle of delight. 'You want to know what's in the box - an Old One called Illyria. You want to know what that is - an ancient, primordial demon from the beginning of time who ruled over this earth whilst seas boiled and mountains crumbled. But they were killed … as all things are in the end and it was buried in the Deeper Well. But a Godking has acolytes … even now.'

'OK - so you worship some dead demon king,' Doyle pressed down on the doctor's shoulder - pinning him even further into the chair. He leaned closer, so their faces were only an inch apart - and then brought out his spikes. 'But what's happening to Fred?'

'Ah, Miss Burkle, yes - most unfortunate for you all.' The Cheshire Cat grin flashed again, either nervous or exhilarated at the thought of a brachen spike through his eyeball. 'Well - she released the essence of Illyria, as she was supposed to, and she took Illyria inside of herself.'

'Not telling us anything we don't already know,' Gunn said.

'Well there's not much else to tell. Illyria will use Miss Burkle's body to hatch out into this world. It's unfortunate for your friend - her soul will be burned up in the fires of resurrection and there will be nothing left of her but a shell. But she will be a shell to a god, if it's any comfort to you.'

'What's a comfort to me is that Angel's on his way to stop this thing right now,' Gunn said from between gritted teeth.

'Oh I have no doubt your Mr. Angel is very noble and is doing a fine job … but this course was set back at the dawn of the world. There's nothing that can stop it. He won't save her, Mr. Gunn.'

'You don't know Angel,' Doyle growled.

But the doctor only laughed again. 'Oh no - you misunderstand. I don't mean he'll fail to save her. I mean he will let her die.'

The two friends let go of him - and turned to look at each other, not understanding how such a thing could be. The doctor got back to his feet. 'Everything comes with a price, Charles. You of all people should know that. And the price for saving Miss Burkle's life will be too high for Angel to accept. So he will let her die.'

Gunn's fist snapped out again, and this time when he hit the doctor, the doctor didn't get back up. The two men looked at each other. 'He's wrong,' Doyle said, 'Angel will find a way.' But there was an edge to his voice that suggested he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince Gunn.

* * *

Fred cried out and began to writhe in pain on her bed. 'Cordelia!' Wesley yelled - his voice panicked and frantic. Cordy ran back inside the jet and saw Fred rolling in agony on the bed and Wesley struggling to get a hypodermic needle out of its packaging. Wesley looked up and saw her standing there, 'she's - I can't… I don't…'

'Get that open,' Cordy said, her voice soft but firm. She stepped up to Fred and sat beside her, holding her still. 'Shhh shhh, honey - just hold still. We'll make it better.' She stroked her hair and applied some of her slayer strength to keeping Fred still.

Wesley got the needle out of its package and tried to inject her - but her skin was too hard and it couldn't penetrate her skin. 'Oh God!' Fred cried out feverishly. 'I sinned. I've sinned and I'm being punished. I don't know what's wrong. I never got a B before. Sorry! I'm Sorry! _Make it stop!_'

Wesley stared at her, watching her pain - listening to her frantic and heartbreaking cries, tearing at his own heart. His inability to help her, to ease her pain, brought tears to his eyes. He had sinned. He had failed her - and his punishment was to watch her suffer, to listen to her cry.

'Give me the needle,' Cordy said, holding her hand out when she realised he had frozen. Silently, he handed it over - not knowing why. 'Now hold her steady.' She took a deep breath, reared back with the hypodermic and then jabbed it down as hard as she could, putting all her strength behind it. Fred screamed out - but it pierced her skin, and Cordy depressed the plunger and administered her pain relief.

The dying woman went still, and Wesley held onto her - unable to hold back his tears. After a few moments of them clinging to each other, Fred's breathing regulated and Wesley dried his eyes. Cordelia took a few paces back - and left them to the privacy of their grief once more.

* * *

Drogyn stared at the vampires in horror. 'It's been freed?' he said, not believing what they told him.

'Yeah it's been freed,' Spike told him, 'why do you think we're here?' He saw the look on Drogyn's face. 'And what's your favourite colour? What's your favourite song? Who's the goalkeeper for Manchester United and how many fingers am I holding up?' He stuck up his two fingered salute. 'You wanna kill me, try, but I don't have time for your quirks.'

Drogyn chose to ignore him, and looked instead at Angel. 'The power to draw back Illyria lies in there,' he pointed towards the well. 'It requires a champion who has travelled from where it lies to where it belongs.'

'Well you've got two of those right here. More outside if you need them.'

'But I didn't know it was free!' He sighed. 'If we bring the Sarcophagus back to the well, it will draw Illyria out of your friend… and into every single person between here and there. It will become the mystical equivalent of airborne. It will claw into every soul in its path to keep from being trapped. Entire cities - tens maybe hundreds of thousands will die in agony if you save her.'

Angel and Spike stared at him - now understanding the horror Drogyn felt, and feeling it all the worse because they loved Fred. 'No...' Angel said, turning away and staring down into the well. This wasn't fair. The Powers had wanted them to save her - they had said … 'that's why they told us to bring her here,' he muttered under her breath.

'What's that?' Spike asked.

Angel looked back up at them, 'The Powers - they instructed Doyle, said we had to bring Fred to the well. If Fred's in the well when the sarcophagus is drawn back…'

'Then there's no people for Illyria to infect. It's already trapped right where it's going,' Spike realised. 'Will that work?' He looked to Drogyn - and for once the man did not react to the question.

'It is a risky strategy,' he said, gravely. 'There are no guarantees… but it is your choice. I will prepare the spell.'

* * *

Her pain had receded, and Fred was more lucid now - still lying in Wesley's arms. 'Why did we go there?' she asked, a world of regret and bitterness crushing her voice. 'Why did we think we could beat it? It's evil, Wesley. It's bigger than anything.'

Wesley held her tighter and shook his head, 'I don't believe that.'

Fred suddenly buckled in his arms, bouncing on the mattress as a resurgence of pain threw her around. She cried out, 'I'm with him,' she pointed at Wesley - yelling at some force which only she could see, some invisible shadowy figures that were trying to take her because they thought she was all alone. 'He won't leave me now, we're so close.'

'I will never leave you,' Wesley promised her desperately, gripping onto her - the tears shining in his eyes.

'Hmmph. Hmmph,' she panted, but her body seemed to relax a little. 'That one was bad. But it's better now. You won't leave me?'

'I won't.'

'My boys.' She smiled through her tears - though it was a weak and heartbroken smile. 'I walk with heroes. Think about that.'

'You are one.'

'Superhero. And this is my power. To not let them take me. Not _me_.' Her tears ran down her face, wetting her dried out skin - leaving glistening tracks against the grey.

'That's right.'

'That's right,' she laced her fingers with Wesley's. 'He's with me.'

* * *

The shrill ring of her cell phone cut through the stillness of the night air. With a glance back at the jet, hoping it hadn't disturbed them, Cordy flicked it open to answer. 'Angel?'

'It's time. Bring her in.'

* * *

Angel clicked his phone shut and put it back in his pocket. He turned round to see Spike just standing on the bridge, staring straight down into the well - a look of defeat and sadness on his face. 'This goes all the way through to the other side,' the younger vampire said quietly. 'So, I figure, there's a bloke somewhere around … New Zealand, standing on a bridge just like this one. Staring straight back at us… there's a hole in the world,' he said quietly. 'Feels like we ought to have known.'

Angel shook his head. 'The Powers are on our side tonight. I can feel it. We can save her. We have to.'

* * *

Drogyn led Cordelia and Wesley down into the deeper well, carrying a torch once more. Fred was in Wesley's arms. The guardian of the Deeper Well had looked troubled when he had seen the way her skin was hardening, the way Illyria was already working its way through her body, burying deep within - but he had said nothing.

He led them into a chamber, where a pentagram was drawn on the floor - and candles lit at each of the five points. 'You need to place her inside the pentagram,' Drogyn told Wesley. 'The Sarcophagus will be drawn back to this very spot. If she is already here then perhaps we can spare more needless deaths.'

'Illyria will be drawn out of Fred and back into the sarcophagus,' Angel explained to his team, 'and Fred will be saved. It'll be like this whole thing never happened.'

Drogyn did not contradict him. But he did not agree with him either.

Wesley stepped inside the pentagram and gently lay Fred down on the ground. She clung to him, not wanting to let him go. 'You said you wouldn't leave me.'

'We all need to leave, Wes,' Angel said to him. 'If we're in here when the sarcophagus is drawn back, then we will be infected - just like Fred is. She has to do this alone.'

But Wesley looked like he did not want to leave, and Fred was not relinquishing her grasp on him.

'Maybe we should give them a moment,' Cordelia suggested, ushering all the men apart from Wesley out of the chamber.

...

Left alone, Fred looked deep into Wesley's eyes. 'Will you kiss me?' He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, tenderly, passionately - one perfect moment of perfect love. And then he pulled away. 'Would you have loved me?' she asked, her voice was weak - but she wanted to know: what they could have had, what she was losing.

'I have loved you since I've known you,' he told her earnestly, desperate for her to know she was not losing a lifetime of his love, she had already had it. 'No - that's not - I think maybe even before…'

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. 'I'm so sorry.'

'No, no, no,' his heart broke at the thought she was giving up, saying goodbye.

She took a deep breath, this next part was important. 'I need - if this doesn't work, I need you to talk to my parents.' She broke off to cough. She was so weak, this was so hard to say. She began to cry again - it needed to be said, but it hurt so much to say it. 'They have to know I wasn't scared, that it was quick, that I wasn't scared.' The pain came again and she started to convulse. 'Oh God!'

'You have to fight,' Wesley told her frantically. 'You don't have to talk, just concentrate on fighting. Just hold on. And then it will all be over. And we can do all the things we never got a chance to. It will be a brand new start. Just keep on fighting.'

She gripped hold of his shoulders and stared into his eyes, her terrified brown ones meeting his heartbroken blue. 'I'm not scared,' she said, though her voice was trembling and her body was shaking. 'I'm not scared, I'm not scared, I'm not scared…'

'Wesley?' Cordelia had returned. 'It's time to go.'

Fred gripped hold of him tighter. 'Please Wesley,' she whispered to him, '_why can't you stay?'_

But Cordy had gripped Wes as well, and Fred - dying as she was - was no match for the pull of a slayer. The other woman led Wesley away, holding his hand - squeezing it to bring him comfort, but also to make sure that - in the event of his resolve weakening - he would not be able to leave her side and run back to Fred.

Left alone, Fred collapsed onto the floor, lying back in the pentagram. Her whole body began to buck and quake and tremble.

...

Cordelia led Wesley out of the well, and then through the chambers and out of the hollow tree, up into the cool, night air. Angel, Spike and Drogyn were all stood outside, waiting; their faces grim.

'What now?' Wesley asked him, his voice breaking from the grief.

'Now we wait,' Angel told him, 'and pray.'

...

Inside the chamber, Fred's body was thrown around. She cried out with pain as her whole frame wracked and shuddered with agony. This was like nothing she had ever felt before, or imagined. Her chest hurt more than when she had been lost in Pylea and so very far from home. Her limbs shook and juddered, like she was fitting. Her brown eyes rolled up to their whites with the convulsions, and her toes curled.

And then the Sarcophagus materialised beneath her - so she was no longer lying on the ground but lying on the coffin. The bronze disc opened up again - just like it had in the lab - and Fred screamed one final scream of torment as she felt something forced out of her, like a monstrous birth.

And then she went completely still, the convulsions over. Her eyes were closed. The whole place was in silence, now the echoes of her screams had died away. This was a place of stillness and death once more … except for her shallow, regular breathing and the steady beating of her heart. She sat up with a sudden gasp, breathing deeply like she had just broken the water's surface, and then she opened her blue eyes - staring around at the place she now found herself.

* * *

**A/N ... To be Continued. Next episode is 'Shells'**


	62. Shells: Part One

**Shells**

_Part One_

She sat up and looked around her. It was dark - and the place smelled of death. And decay. Worms burying their way through the earth to feast on the meat of the dead. And her hand … it was not her hand. Or maybe it was. She remembered … she closed her eyes … the glory of destruction, the stench of fear and the reek of pain - whole armies rotted through with defeat. But this was not the hand that had defeated them.

This hand … it stroked Wesley's face, caressing his skin as his smiling eyes bore into her soul. It slid into the hand of her mother, as a child - seeking warmth and safety. It scratched away at the rock wall, carving in symbols and aching for home until her nails bled and the skin of her knuckles split. And this hand held weapons, too big for one so small to wield, and faced down danger too great for one so small to face. This was her hand…

Her skin felt tight and warm - like there was too much on the inside and it was fighting to get out. Death and power, glory and destruction, love and solace, comfort and kindness all fighting inside of her, clawing at her chest, rattling in her head and beating against the bars of her bones. All too much. To be confined into such smallness. To be imprisoned in such a limited shell.

She was trapped, inside this skin that was not her skin - tied to the steady beating of a heart that was not her heart. All that had been had faded away, had died in agony, trembling and terrified and helpless, and now she did not know what she was. Did not know which memories were hers and which belonged to the other. Was she the terrified girl who had died in the arms of the man she loved, begging not to be left alone? Was that who she was? Or was she the other memories? The king who lived a thousand generations, who ruled and vanquished and slaughtered as easily as the trembling girl would breathe. Who watched the tides roll back and the lands form anew, and mountains grow and crumble and had still ruled on.

Had she died today? Or had she spent interminable aeons trapped in this well of death, slumbering with the others of her kind - her carcass become the palace of maggots?

She gripped her head and cried out - the feelings becoming too much to keep inside, hoping to release the pressure by screaming into the void. Like she had done alone in Pylea. Like she had done when her own armies had betrayed her. She brought her hand back down and stared at it, clenching and unclenching her fist, flexing her fingers - trying to recognise … something. Hold onto something. Was this her hand?

* * *

Angel stood outside the Deeper Well with Spike and the others. Cordelia was holding on to Wesley's hand, trying to bring him some comfort. But there was no comfort to be had, the British man's shoulder shook with silent sobs - and there was nothing any one of them could do for him.

The dawn was close, vampires could always smell it - soon the skies would turn a rosy pink as the sun peeped it's head over the rolling hills of this green and pleasant land. Another day would start. People - all over the Island - would get up, have breakfast, kiss their loved ones goodbye and head off to work as if today were a perfectly normal day. And yet Angel had never feared the dawn of a new day quite so much as he feared this one. He did not know what it would bring, what would be lost, if his family would still be complete. If Fred …

He didn't want to know. He didn't want to start this day, to enter this new era - the era of knowing. The afterwards. The what came next. The picking up and carrying on - moving forward, getting used to the new reality - keeping it all in until the loss of the old reality didn't hurt anymore. He didn't want that. Couldn't bear it.

The waiting was killing him. But still he clung to every minute of it, grasped at every second and only let them pass by reluctantly, looking back jealously at the second before and the moment before that. Because whilst they waited, there was still hope. Once the waiting was over - once they entered that well and saw what was in there … then it would be done. And the new reality would start. The dawn of a new world. The one Angel was so afraid of.

Drogyn looked around at his silent companions. He was about to say it. Angel willed him not to, willed for the wait to not be over yet. But he could no more cling onto this than he could stop the tide from turning. 'It should be done,' Drogyn said, heavily. 'It is time.'

Wesley wrenched himself free of Cordelia's hand - and raced inside the well.

* * *

They had held back from killing the doctor, in the end. Though it had been hard - though they had wanted to. Though raining their fists down on him until he was bloody and bruised had been the only thing close to relief they had felt in hours, the two of them had stopped short at murder.

They were the good guys. The heroes. They did not serve vengeance. And killing the doctor would not help Fred. After hours of violence with little mercy, they left the doctor's office and came back out into the street - out into the night air - their knuckles split and bleeding from pounding, their clothes dishevelled and both of them out of breath.

'So what do we do now?' Gunn asked. 'We can't just … Fred's dying. We can't just do nothing.'

'They've all gone to England,' Doyle shrugged, wearily, 'they're thousands of miles away across the ocean. What can we do?'

'There must be some way we can get more information. That we can … call them up and tell them. We can't be useless back here, Doyle. We have to do something. For Fred. I _need_ to do something.'

'I know, man.' His voice was heavy. His heart was heavy. Everything was wrong - and knowing there was no way to put it right was too painful. They had to pretend. Pretend there was some way they could fix this - be the white knights Fred needed. Pretending would at least stave off their own pain, for a few hours longer at least, even if it could not really do anything to save Fred.

'There must be another source of information,' Gunn was saying. 'Someone who knows something or … or…'

'The book,' Doyle said, realising.

'What?'

'The book Wes was reading from. He was just using those templates, yeah? He called it up from the archive - but he didn't have the actual book with him.'

'Yeah.'

'_Me and Cordy have the real book at the office_. That's how she knew which book it was he needed to read from, 'cause she'd already read it. We can go back to my place, get the book - see if there's … _anythin'_ that can help us.'

'Yeah - right - good thinking.'

Doyle nodded. The book couldn't save Fred. And if there was anything in there - Wes would have found it. The two of them weren't going to stumble across some vital passage that a trained watcher had bypassed. But it would keep them busy. It felt like action. It felt like they were not giving up. And that was the best they could do right now.

* * *

Wesley ran down the passageways that led from the hollow of the tree down to the Deeper Well. His heart was beating in time to the frantic pounding of his boots and matched to the desperate mantra pulsing through his brain '_please please please please'_.

He neared the chamber they had left her in - and dread welled up inside of him, weighing him down. When he ran through that doorway … then she would be there - or she would not be. And if she was not … Oh god if his Fred was gone then he didn't know how he was going to bear another second on this earth. He would want to die but knew that wanting would not make it so. The pain would not kill him - but it would kill every good and worthy thing inside of him, make all that made life worth living and all that made the world worth fighting for shrivel up and retreat into the darkness. And he would be forced to continue - without hope, without love, with the crushing weight of grief grinding his bones to meal and tearing at his soul.

But if she was there - if Fred were still here - then all this would have been worth it. And he would hold her in his arms and nothing would ever part them again. And all he had to do - to have her, to hold her, forever - was walk through that doorway and find her. But the dread - the sickness, the fear of the grief yet to come - it held him back, made him a coward.

'Fred,' he called out - his voice felt as weak as his heart, he choked on the word. Almost as if he was afraid to be heard - afraid of what might answer. He tried again, 'Fred.'

'Wesley!'

His whole body flooded with heat and his limbs turned to jelly, unable to support himself as he heard her voice. Like his had been, it was weak - a scared croak of a voice. But it was hers and she was calling to him. And he could not move for relief. 'Wesley - I'm so lost. I'm so frightened.'

'I'm coming. I'm coming for you.' He forced his trembling legs forwards, stumbling towards the chamber - gripping the wall, using it to drag himself along as he did not trust himself not to fall if he tried to do this unaided.

'Wesley!

'Fred. I'm here - I'm…' he reached the doorway, staggering through, leaning against the frame for support. And came to a dead stop.

She was sitting on top of the sarcophagus, where he had left her - where he had last held her in his arms and kissed her. She was reaching her arm out to him, and calling his name in her fluting little voice. Tears were tracking down her face. And her eyes were blue. Cold, frosty - like shining crystals but hard as diamonds, where once they had been so warm and brown and loving. And the brown tumble of her waves was shot through with brightest blue as well - standing out against the darkness of her hair. Even her skin - even her skin had traces of blue to it, and her lips were pale. 'Wesley?' her quavering voice held a question in it now - as he didn't come for her, as he just stood there and stared.

He heard the sound of the others footsteps come up behind him, felt them gather around him. 'Oh my god,' he heard Cordelia breathe.

* * *

Back at Wolfram and Hart, the two of them grabbed Lorne and shut themselves away inside Angel's office, closing the door in an attempt to shut out the world. The anagogic demon fixed himself a drink. Gunn shrugged his jacket off and then took off his tie, dumping it on the floor. He sank into a chair, 'alright Irish - you know you're better at me than this … now anyways. What've we got?'

'Illyria,' Doyle said. He ran his finger down the index until he found the name of the Old One and then turned to the pages listed and began to read. His fingers traced along the words - many of them were long and complicated. Plenty of them weren't in English. 'There's a lot here that Wes already read,' he told his friends, 'and other stuff that we found out from the doctor. Great ruler of the earth before time was time. Acolytes and minions. Big betrayal. Killed and placed in the well - predestined to return after an unspecified length of time sleepin'.'

'Why would they do that?' Gunn asked, massaging his temples as he spoke, his eyes scrunched up. 'Its time was over. This world - it aint the world it left. Why would anybody wanna come back to a world a bazillion years after they left it, when everything they loved would be gone? Dead?'

'I don't know that Illyria loved anything.'

But Gunn shook his head. 'Dread king of the primordial soup like that? It loved power, if nothing else. Probably loved slaughter and mayhem too. What it won't love is order and bureaucracy, tax returns and dentists appointments and infomercials. We wouldn't wanna go back to the world this thing knew, so why on earth would it wanna come to ours?'

Doyle thought about it for a moment. 'I guess maybe it never considered that the world it knew would end. It thought it could sleep for a bazillion years and then pick up right where it left off. If humans were even a thing, back when this creature was still alive, then they can have been little more than clever monkeys. Living in caves, frightened of fire and thunder, worshippin' the sun… how could Illyria ever figure they'd take over the world, learn to write and drive and fly, invent television ... go to the moon? Who would ever see that comin'? Who would ever have banked their money on us?'

Lorne took a sip of his seabreeze. His hand had been trembling the whole time he had been nursing it. They'd been trembling for hours. Ever since that moment - that awful moment - when Fred sang and his sun went out. 'You know Angel and Spike got it wrong,' he said heavily. The two men looked at him, he hadn't said anything the whole time they had been in there, so far.

He took another drink. 'Cavemen and astronauts don't fight. No one wins. The cavemen turn into the astronauts - it's what people do. They learn and grow and discover, and primeval superstition gives way to knowledge and they keep on seeking out the truth, keeping on digging deeper, finding out more. It's what Freddikins did. What she always did up in that lab of hers. Sought out the truth. Took the magic and turned it into science. Learned to understand the building blocks of the universe, learned what made everything tick. It's why she didn't put that damn sarcophagus into containment. She wanted to find out what made it tick. She was an astronaut. _The_ astronaut.'

He sighed deeply, and drained his glass - before immediately getting up and fixing himself a fresh drink. 'Cavemen become astronauts. The better people are, the further they go. And Fred - she was …' He cut himself off and shook his head, not trusting his voice to finish the sentence. His eyes were already stinging from their unshed tears. 'But people are still only people. And nature - whether magic or science - can slap us right back down into the dirt. It's bigger than all of us. We can't stand against the forces of nature no matter how clever we grow… I'll bet Illyria understood that. I'll bet that's why they knew they could come back. Because no matter how much we change … nothing ever changes. Nothing.'

The two men looked down, thinking about what Lorne had said. There didn't seem to be anything to say in response.

* * *

'Wesley?' Fred held her hand out for him - but he was frozen, unable to go to her - unable to stop staring at the changes Illyria had wrought to her body. The damage. After a moment, Angel pushed past him, stepped inside the chamber and swept Fred up into his arms. 'Come on, Fred,' he said, carrying her out of there, 'let's get you home.'

'Fred,' she rested her head against his chest and repeated her name, blankly. 'Is that who am I? Winifred Burkle?'

'That's who you are,' Angel told her firmly. Spike fell in behind him, Cordelia took Wesley's hand once more and began to tow him along.

'I remember Winifred Burkle,' she said, closing her eyes and searching through her mind. 'I remember … pancakes and The Nutcracker and warm Texas days and cold Pylean nights.'

'That's good,' Angel said softly, still carrying her through the passages of the Deeper Well, towards the exit, towards home. 'You've been through a lot. You should try and remember what came before.'

'I remember what came before,' she said - and her eyes opened, glittering frosted blue in the dark. 'I remember when the earth was new and nightmares walked amongst us - gigantic and terrifying and as real as you or I. I remember when the world was a desert - an endless boneyard for the weak, swallowing them like flies. I remember -'

'You don't remember that, Fred,' he interrupted her, though his voice was still soft. 'You never saw that.'

'And yet I see it now in my mind. If these memories do not belong to Winifred Burkle ... Am I really Fred?'

'Yes,' he said firmly, brooking no argument - and carrying her out into the open air, heading for the jet before the dawn broke through the trees. Cordelia followed on behind him, dragging a silent and morose Wesley along in her wake.

...

Drogyn stopped Spike, at the entrance to the Deeper Well. 'I do not believe Angel has failed to notice that your friend is … not your friend,' he said in a hurried whisper. 'He must see that she is greatly changed - and yet he chooses to ignore the evidence of his eyes.'

'Are you saying …' he shook his head and rephrased. 'You're saying that she's not Fred. You're saying Illyria took her.'

'I am saying that things are not as they were. And that if Angel does not acknowledge this, then much harm may come of it.'

'You said if we brought the sarcophagus back to the well then Illyria would be drawn out of Fred,' Spike said, 'you said it would save her.' He couldn't keep the accusatory note out of his voice. They had been promised that this summoning job would do the trick on taking Illyria out of Fred. And Fred was still alive … or at least, something was. If that girl wasn't Fred, then it was hard not to feel that Aragorn here had played them false.

'That the Old One is back inside their tomb, I do not doubt,' Drogyn said. 'That is the oldest, deepest magicks which govern this. Laws of the earth which cannot be broken. But your friend's body suffered in ways which no mortal could survive, organs cooked inside her body, her brain collapsing in on itself - all synapses dying, electrical impulses gone. And now she lives again.'

'Well - I got flash fried in a pillar of fire saving the earth. I got better.'

But Drogyn shook his head. 'To live - to be renewed as your friend has been renewed… I fear she is more now than once she was. There is more to her than once was there. Things which do not belong within your friend.'

'Well as long as she's still Fred - what does it matter.' He kept his tone flat - that was a statement not a question.

'She is more than Fred. And that means danger. To her. To you. To the world. And Angel must not ignore it because he is too afraid to face it. Tell him I said that. Tell him that champions do not flinch from harsh truth because it will cause them too much pain. To do so is to call down danger and agony from above. Tell him to be a champion.'

Spike stared at the keeper of the well, and then turned his head to stare after Angel, watching his grandsire trudge his way back to the jet - Fred still clasped firmly in his arms.

* * *

'OK - here, I think I found somethin',' Doyle said, after what seemed like hours of searching. Gunn got up and crossed over to him, peering over his shoulder to get a better look. They both glanced up at Lorne, expectantly, but the green demon stayed where he was - staring into space and nursing his seabreeze, seemingly unlistening.

The two men exchanged a worried glance and then looked back at the book. 'Turns out Illyria's kingdom back in the old days was right here in L.A,' Doyle said, tapping the information. 'Well, right where L.A would later be built. Much later. And they had this temple called Vahla Ha'nesh right here in the city and … oh. That's not good.'

'What is it?'

'Says here - they locked up their legion of doom inside the temple and then hid it so no one would find it. The army is still inside - waitin' to be unleashed on the earth upon Illyria's resurrection.'

'So Illyria always knew they could bring back hell on earth - no matter how long they were dead,' Gunn said.

'And now it looks like we might have to fight off this legion of doom.'

The phone began to ring. Gunn reached across and picked it up, 'hello? … Angel…'

Immediately, Doyle put down his book and Lorne put down his drink. They were on their feet and crowding round the phone, holding their breath, as they waited to hear the news. 'Uhuh … uhuh …' Gunn wrinkled his forehead as he listened. 'Uhuh … I see … yeah … see you soon.' He put the phone down and stared at it blankly for a moment.

'Well?' Lorne demanded. Gunn looked back up - and shook his head - as if just remembering that they were there. 'They found the Deeper Well, got Fred inside and successfully summoned the sarcophagus back to England.'

'And?' Doyle asked.

Gunn took a deep breath. 'It's complicated,' he said.

* * *

The team sat in the jet - flying West - headed back into the dark. Having already seen the sunrise on this worst of days, they were going to have to see it again - once they got back to L.A. It seemed deeply ironic that the sun would rise twice on such a day. Cordelia closed her eyes and tried to chase sleep. The jet was silent, no one was talking - no one had anything to say.

Angel sat up front, morose and moody, gripping the arm rests - whether out of fear of flying or anger with the world, Cordelia didn't know. Spike was lolling around in the back, on the sofas, trying to get drunk on the complimentary miniature Jack Daniels the plane was stocked with.

Fred was sitting staring out of the windows at the clouds swirling beneath them. There was something about the way she sat, so stiff and still, that left Cordy with a creeping unease. It reminded her … almost of an insect. The way she moved, the way she tilted her head, even the way she looked at things. And then her body would relax - she would begin to fret, twining her fingers together in her lap and biting her lip. And Cordy would relax too when she did that - because she looked like Fred again. But moments later she would stiffen up - and that praying mantis glare would come back to her eyes.

Wesley was … catatonic. He hadn't moved or made a sound since she'd brought him inside and sat him down. She couldn't even begin to imagine what he was feeling, what was going through his head. As much as it hurt, she tried to imagine that it was Doyle who had been infected with Illyria - who had died in her arms and was now staring out at the world from startling blue eyes and talking just … crazy. How would she be feeling? What would she do?

But she couldn't see… having lived through the fear of losing him, of watching him die, that once he was awake and alive again, she wouldn't care less what he looked like, or what madness he spoke. She would just cling to him, feel his warmth and his heartbeat and be so weak with thankful relief. The worry would come later, getting to know this new version of the man she loved, coming to terms with him having memories not his own. But for now she would be holding him and thanking God and would be fiercely determined that she would help him find a way back to himself - that things would go back to normal eventually. He would get better, she would make it so.

Wesley wasn't doing any of that. He was catatonic. And so she could only conclude that she was missing something; that she couldn't understand - couldn't begin to imagine - what it felt like to be him right now, and that must be why her hypothetical musings were so off base.

The atmosphere couldn't be thicker. It made the journey out here seem like a fun family trip to the seaside. Before, everyone had been focused on the desperate emergency - and determined to stop it. As frightened and as heartbroken as they had been, they had had drive and purpose. But now … now there was only aftermath. The new reality of the world which they had to adjust to. Nothing to be done and no way to fix what was wrong. So everyone just brooded, silent and alone. Completely isolated in a confined space filled with people they loved.

There was no real way to escape it, so Cordy was trying to escape into sleep. But it was fleeting - and she was as trapped inside the misery as the rest of her companions.

* * *

'See - this is the thing I don't get,' Gunn said. He was pacing up and down the office, windmilling his arms as if to stretch out his aching shoulder muscles, give himself some release after a hard and long day. 'Why be an acolyte of a million year old dead demon? It don't make sense. Why does that doctor want an army of doom to sweep across the world? He's _in_ the world, same as everybody else. He's a rich guy - must have a pretty good life. What's in it for him if Illyria rises and destroys the entire planet? If they wipe out the human race he aint gonna have no more rich clients to do his Frankenstein on.'

'Same reason anybody makes a deal with a devil,' Doyle said. 'Power. If Illyria turns up and annihilates the human race, lays waste to the land … then the only way to survive that is to be at their right hand side. Get themselves a nice slice of the post-apocalyptic pie.'

'Yeah - and I can appreciate looking at the odds and choosing to join the ranks of a hell king, once it's here and gettin' its rampage on. But what I don't get is why you would help that hell king get here in the first place. Especially if you had a pretty sweet life already.'

'Why be a doctor when you can be the king of what's left of Australia?' Doyle said with a weary shrug. 'Some people always want more. And if destroyin' everythin' is the only way to get it … then that's what they'll do. That's what makes 'em the bad guys. That's not really any point in us tryin' to understand it. We don't understand it. That's what makes us the good guys.'

'I just … why _Fred_ you know? Why did it have to be Fred?' He stopped his pacing to sit on the arm of the sofa and rubbed his face, too weary to go on. Then he froze. 'Hang on.'

Doyle and Lorne looked at him, 'what is it?'

'You know - that is the real question here. Why Fred?'

'The sarcophagus went to the lab. Her lab,' Lorne said. 'Who else was it gonna be?'

But Gunn shook his head. 'No, no - you're not gettin' it. Doyle, don't you remember - the doctor talked about Fred. By name. He knew it was her that had been infected. He knew it was her that opened it up, he said … he said "as she was supposed to".'

'So?'

'Don't you see?' he was back on his feet. 'Fred didn't open that coffin 'cause it just _happened_ to turn up in her lab. It was sent to her. Deliberately. She was supposed to open it. But … that doctor don't know Fred, he's never met her.'

'I don't understand what you're gettin' at,' Doyle said, frowning as he tried to puzzle it out.

'I'm sayin' _Fred was chosen._ She was chosen to be infected. She was chosen to be the host that Illyria hatched out of. But the doctor couldn't have chosen her, he doesn't know her from Adam. Someone else selected Fred to be Illyria's vessel - and told the doctor about it.'

'You mean - there's another acolyte out there?' Doyle said. He got it now. 'One who knows Fred?'

'Someone close to her,' Gunn nodded. 'And they're the one behind all this.'

'But who could know Fred … and want to hurt her?' Lorne asked.

* * *

The doctor ached all over when he finally regained consciousness. Those men had really gone to town on him. Charles reverting back to form as the thuggish street muscle - and clearly that other fellow was no better. The pain did nothing to dim his Cheshire Cat grin though.

He winced, got a cold compress to hold against his head and dialled the phone. 'They're onto us,' he told his contact when he picked up. 'They've just served out one heck of a beating. I suggest you get out of there before they follow the trail back to you - unless you want a beating of your very own.'

'I'm on my way out now,' Knox said to him, 'I'm ready to blow this place. This is a good day. Our time has come.'


	63. Shells: Part Two

_Part Two_

After Drogyn had performed the magic to resurrect all the guards Angel and Spike had killed, he instructed two of them to help him transport Illyria's sarcophagus back to its proper resting place within the Deeper Well. They carried it along the wooden bridge and then followed the winding path downward, through the hole in the world. Drogyn led the way, bearing a torch to light their journey.

When they reached the empty plot of earth, he brought the whole procession to a halt and placed his torch into a bracket - it cast flickering shadows across their faces, across the sarcophagus and around the well. He scooped some of the earth into his hand and scattered it across the coffin. 'I consecrate this sarcophagus and give it back to the Well. Old One, your time is past, sleep with your brethren until time is over,' he muttered over it.

Then he gave the signal to inter the coffin. The two guards hauled it up onto their shoulders, ready to place it back into the empty hollow it had transported from - but as they did so, something caught Drogyn's eye.

'Wait!' he called out, raising a hand to stop them. They paused. 'Lower the sarcophagus - let me see it,' he demanded, and they did as they were told. He frowned, scrutinising it, grabbing the torch and casting it's light over the casket's lid so he could better examine it.

The largest crystal - the centrepiece of the stone sarcophagus - was missing. There were markings around the cavity where it should be, scrapings and scratchings that suggested someone had forcibly removed it, pried it out with a crude weapon. 'This crystal … it was linked to the power of the Old One. The markings on the lid tell of a time for all things. A time to rule, a time to sleep - and a time to rise anew. Illyria, it is said, had great power; could bend time to please itself, make the very minutes of the day bend to its will. If the crystal is missing - stolen…'

'The power of the Old One is loose in the world,' one of the guards stated.

Drogyn nodded slowly. 'And someone unworthy of it wields it. May use it to bring what it is left of Illyria forth from the vessel that carries it. The human woman… I can only hope Angel is champion enough to face what may need to be done.'

He gave the signal, and the guards heaved the stone sarcophagus into place, in the trench in the wall of the Deeper Well - pushing it as far back as it would go. Then they stepped back and Drogyn performed the binding magic to keep it from being summoned or transported again; locking it in place for a thousand more generations. Then he took up his torch once more and led the way back up the well, trudging a weary path back to the earth's surface.

But he worried. What was left of Illyria was trapped inside its tomb - sleeping now forever more. But what of Illyria remained in the human woman was still out in the world - loose and untamed, even if curtailed by its new mortal prison. And who knew what damage the Old One may still be able to wreak upon this sorry earth?

* * *

Knox grabbed the last of his papers and his cell phone, stuffed them in his satchel and then turned for the door. He found the way blocked. 'Going somewhere, Knoxy?' Gunn asked. He was smiling, keeping his voice pleasant - but it was laced with menace and the danger was plain in his eyes. Lorne and Doyle, backing him up, weren't even bothering with the friendly veneer. They walked into the lab - forcing Knox to back up and cornering him.

He smiled his rumpled smile, 'hey - yeah I was just … there was a place … I need to … be.'

'Yeah?' Gunn crept closer, flanked by his friends. 'And where's that?'

'Um - you know - ' he ran out of his ideas and just grinned affably.

'Going to collect your 30 pieces of silver maybe?' Lorne asked him.

'What?'

A green fist shot out and decked him. He stumbled backwards, his lip bleeding. He brought his hand up to touch the cut and then glanced down, seeing the blood. 'OK, wow, fellas - I know emotions are running high. I know Fred is gone and you're grieving. But there's really no need to-'

'How do you know Fred is gone?' Doyle interrupted.

'What?' Knox asked again.

'You said you know she's gone. How? We didn't tell you. You haven't seen her in hours … so how do you know "she's gone"? Seems like a pretty big statement to make on no information … unless there's somethin' you're not tellin' us.'

Knox looked flummoxed. 'Well I -' he reached for an excuse. 'The rate that thing was working away through her system. It was only a matter of time. Her organs were cooking - liquefying inside of her. She can't possibly still be…'

'Alive?' Lorne finished up for him. 'Huh - nice deductions, Aristotle. And I gotta say, you seem real cut up about her death; packing up your bags and fleeing the crime scene and all.'

'I loved Fred,' Knox said evenly.

'So much so that you're running away.'

'Look I-'

'Have to be somewhere, yeah we know,' Gunn said. 'But we got some questions we'd like answerin' - and you aint goin' nowhere until they're answered.' He put his hand onto Knox's shoulder and forced the other man downwards, shoving him onto a stool. 'So sit down, Poindexter - and you better pray we hear what we wanna hear.'

Knox stared up helplessly at the three men looming over him, sensing that he was about to get his own one heck of a beating.

* * *

Wesley stared ahead of himself, his old thousand yard stare - the one that settled on his face every time something too terrible to contemplate happened, and he had to contemplate it anyway. Fred was … he didn't know what Fred was. She wasn't dead. She wasn't gone. But she wasn't here with him either. That blue … _creature_, with its strange eyes and pale lips and memories of a hell on earth, was not Fred.

He knew what she _had_ been. Warmth. And comfort. Softness. And oh so clever. A mind always ticking over, seeing things that others couldn't see, looking underneath it all, finding out what made things work. She had had grace and beauty and a kindliness that reached out to you, soothed you, saw the good in you. When Fred looked at you - with those soft, brown eyes - all the darkness melted away, and you were wonderful. That was what Fred had been.

But those cold blue eyes, which glittered hard as diamonds - there was no softness there. No kindliness and comfort and warmth came from that strange little person, sitting so stiff and still - where Fred should be sitting. The woman who sat there, watching the clouds drift past with a calculating eye, was not the same woman he had brought to England. The woman he had held in his arms, who he had felt die.

'_Will you kiss me?' _He hissed with pain as he remembered her final request. Remembered pressing his lips to hers, pouring all his love and grief and passion into this one tender moment. Her lips were pale now and she did not look like she wanted to be kissed.

'_Would you have loved me?'_

'_I've loved you since I've known you. No that's not - I think maybe even before.' _He closed his eyes, as if hoping to ward off the pain. It didn't work. She was inside. Deep within him - where she had always been. He could not run away from her.

All his life he had searched for - hoped for - an ideal; loved the thought of what could be - what might be had, if only he could find it. And then there had been Fred. She was found. Everything he'd ever hoped ... He remembered that very first moment: a wild girl standing alone in the hills, her fist drenched in blood as she lured the beast that was Angel away from him, luring it back through the forest. It was like the whole world stood still that moment, like the birds stopped singing in the trees, as Fred had stood there, illuminated by twin suns, and called the beast to herself through the scent of blood.

They had saved her. Taken her back from that place, from her cave, and brought her back into the world - taught her how to live in it again. And once she was there, with her quiet, gentle ways and her soft, brown eyes it was like all the ugliness and harshness had been driven from the world.

But now her eyes were harsh. Cold and blue and harsh. And she spoke of death and defeat and glory and bloodshed. And he didn't know if that harshness, those memories, could be separated out from all that she had been. If they could be extracted and she could be Fred again. When he looked into those eyes - he didn't even know that she would let him try to save her this time. He didn't know if there was still a Fred to save.

And so he stared ahead of himself blankly, contemplating things too terrible to contemplate.

* * *

Gunn held Knox firmly in place - not letting him up. 'See - here's the thing,' he said. 'When we've been looking into what happened to Fred - we followed the trail all the way back to a spooky ass doctor that I happen to know. And he knew all about what had happened to Fred - called her by name and everything.'

'But Dr. Spooky doesn't know our Fred,' Lorne explained, pressing his own hand against Knox's other shoulder - adding his own weight to keeping him prisoner. 'And Gunn here - big brain that he is - riddled out that someone who _did_ know Fred must have filled him in on what had happened.'

'So we lined all our suspects up - and decided to start with you.' Gunn said. 'It's your lucky day.'

'Hey -' Knox started to protest as Doyle ripped his satchel from him and started to rifle through it - but a furious look from Gunn quelled him back into silence. Doyle pulled out the papers and handed them across to Lorne, and then took out Knox's cell phone and began to scroll through the call history. He had received a call from a number not half an hour ago - and several more calls from the same number over the past few weeks. 'D'y' recognise this?' he asked Gunn, holding the screen up so the other man could see it.

Gunn read the number and then turned and smacked Knox hard across the face. 'That's Dr. Frankenstein's number,' he said, 'now why would he be calling you?'

'And look what we have here!' Lorne held up the papers, they showed an ancient etching of a hideous, many legged, giant demon - more cockroach than man. 'You wanna explain all this?'

'It's just a misunderstanding.'

Gunn hit him, 'wrong answer.'

Doyle was staring at the picture. 'Is that Illyria?' he asked, sounding sick. 'Is that the thing you put inside Fred?'

Gunn smacked him again. 'Why Fred, huh? You couldn't stand the thought of Wes having her - so you killed her? The truth this time.' He raised his fist - making clear his threat if Knox tried to deny it again.

But rather than keep up the lie, Knox actually began to laugh, a disbelieving little chuckle. He knew the jig was up - but he knew there was nothing they could do now. It would only hurt him to not tell them the truth - well hurt his face, where they kept hitting him, anyway. No need to be a martyr. 'No! No! I meant what I said about loving her. I care for her more than I ever cared for anybody. She was the most beautiful and perfect woman I ever saw.'

'You got a funny way of showin' it,' Doyle growled.

Knox shook his head. 'But that's why I chose her. Because I loved her. Because she was worthy. You think I'm gonna let my god hatch out of any old schmuck?'

'Your God?' the Irishman asked. 'You really worship this ... _thing_?' He ripped the drawing from Lorne's hand and thrust it under Knox's nose. But Knox's face took on a distant and dreamy expression. 'Ever since I first saw it, pressed between the pages of the forbidden texts. I was eleven, it was ancient… and I would spend hours locked in my room just staring at it. My mom thought I was looking at porn.'

Doyle tutted in disgust, 'what's wrong with you?'

'I just - I saw the beauty, the majesty. This … Godking who ruled before time was time, whose power was so absolute they were destined to return and live among us. Lay waste to the sinful earth and wash clean the land of all humanity. How could anybody not want to be a part of that?'

The three men stared down at him. 'Um - because they're not a psycho?' Lorne suggested.

'I've honoured Fred, by choosing her. She's a part of something now - beyond flesh, beyond perfection. It's beautiful.' He smiled. 'Fred had a warmth that took you in and held you until everything cold and distant melted away. She was the only one that was worthy - and now she's beyond all this. She's the shell to a God. A divine presence walking among us - in Fred's body.'

Gunn drew his fist back and punched him again and again, lashing out over and over, until Doyle caught his arm and stayed the next blow with a shake of his head. They weren't done with Knox yet. They needed to hold back - for now - but once they knew all they needed to know, then Doyle would let Gunn keep on beating until he couldn't hit anymore. And then he would let Lorne go. And if - once Lorne was done - there was still an inch left to pummel, then Doyle would get stuck in himself. But not yet.

'You're countin' your chickens,' he said to the scientist. Knox's head was lolling back now, his eye was rapidly bruising, there was a split across the bridge of his nose and a rivulet of blood ran down the side of his face. But the men felt no mercy. 'You're wrong about Fred. We can stop this. We can save her.'

'There is no way to stop it,' Knox shook his head. 'This was all set in motion millions of years ago. I'm just a small part of a much greater machine. Illyria will rise in Fred. All we can do now is wait.'

* * *

Spike lolled back against the sofa, in the private jet, and held his tiny bottle of Jack up, looking at it dispiritedly. 'Can't even get drunk,' he announced to his fellow passengers, though they were all ignoring him - locked in their own private misery. 'Why would anyone ever make a bottle this small? It's inhuman.'

He put the bottle down - and looked around. Cordelia seemed to be sleeping, though he wasn't sure she wasn't faking - hiding behind closed eyes the way he was hiding in miniature bottles of whisky. Wesley was … he might as well be a thousand miles away, caved in with pain and completely unreachable. And who knew what the blue bird was thinking - sitting there in silence, staring around like she had never seen the world before.

His eyes settled on Angel; gripping his armrests, silent and morose - lost in thought. 'We did the best we could,' he told his grandsire. His voice was earnest.

'Yeah.'

'We saved what could be saved.'

'Yeah.' His voice was little more than a deep sigh.

'There were forces aligned against us. Powerful forces. Bigger than you or me. We stood up to them. Did what was right…' he picked his bottle up again. 'It's like a bloody tease,' he said. His voice was back to being annoyed. 'It's like "here's what a bottle of Jack would look like if you actually had one" or "here's a drink, but it's very far away".' He stretched the arm with the bottle out, and brought up his other hand to his eye turning it into a telescope and peering through - as if spying a full sized bottle of whisky on the horizon.

'What does that even mean anyway?' Angel asked - his voice had more energy behind it now, he sounded almost irritated.

'It's a play on perspective.' He waggled the little bottle helpfully in Angel's direction. But the other vampire shook his head. 'No - I mean, powerful forces were aligned against us. What forces? The Senior Partners? Doyle had a vision - he thinks this is part of their game but…' he shook his head. 'I don't know what their game is.'

'Destruction, murder, mayhem - and maybe a light apocalypse before bed time. It's why us champions are supposed to stand against them, mate.'

'Yeah - but _Fred? _They didn't go after her for her own sake. There's more to this than meets the eye. More forces at play than just The Senior Partners. Something powerful - and on this plane of existence - had a hand in this.'

'So?'

'So - if it's on this plane of existence … that means we can hurt it.'

* * *

'Angel will stop this,' Doyle said. 'And then you're gonna be in for a world of pain.' Knox began to laugh, even through the pain, he became animated and excited as he talked about his scheme - about his God. 'Angel can't stop it. And it's too late now even if he could.'

'They went to the well.'

'Oh yeah - he's really on track. But it isn't enough. Angel hasn't failed to save her. He chose to let her die.'

'What?' The men stared at him. This was the second time Gunn and Doyle had been told this news. The doctor had said something similar, had told them that whilst Fred could be saved, she wouldn't be. And that it was Angel who would make that call. But that was … that was the ramblings of a man who didn't know Angel is what that was. There was no way the dark avenger would not have come through - on today of all days.

'Yeah …' Knox chuckled again. 'This is the best part. I got transferred to this branch of Wolfram and Hart because I knew the seat of Illyria's power used to be here, in L.A. It's where its kingdom was. And its sarcophagus was supposed to teleport right back to it. But the continents drifted - which they do. I had others help me get it here. But it got stuck in - would you believe it - customs.' Another laugh.

The men all glanced at each other - they believed it.

'But all it took was a signature - and out it came to the lab. Where Fred opened it up, took in the essence of the Old One. Now - you can call a sarcophagus back to the Deeper Well - but if the essence of the Old One is free, then it will not go back quietly. It will claw its way into every living soul in its path between here and the well, infect them - and leave them dying in agony, just like Fred. And the well is all the way over in England.' His laugh became high pitched. 'In order to save Fred, Angel would have to sacrifice the whole of continental North America.' He looked at Doyle. 'Ireland too - every one of your people is standing in Illyria's path. Angel can't make that call - you know it.'

The men looked at each other. That was ... madness. But it was a madness that left them with a flickering of hope. A sudden understanding of what the past few hours had been about. 'That's why the Powers told us to take her to the well,' Doyle said slowly.

The smile slid slowly off Knox's face. 'What?'

'I had a vision,' the Irishman told him - his eyes were hard and there was a small smirk of what looked like satisfaction spreading across his face. 'Have you noticed you haven't seen Fred in hours? It's not 'cause she's dyin' - it's not 'cause she's dead. It's 'cause she went to England. Angel took her. Placed her in the Deeper Well like the Higher Powers told him to. So when Illyria was called out of Fred - from the place she was to Illyria's resting place … well, it was the same place. No one in between Fred and the well. No one for Illyria to infect.' It was Doyle's turn to laugh - though it was dark and mirthless. 'We found a loophole.'

'What? _No_ \- that can't -' Knox was looking panicked - in a way he hadn't looked even whilst being menaced by three very angry men who wanted to do him serious harm.

'And we couldn't have done it without Wolfram and Hart's _really good _jets.'

'You know,' Gunn looked around the lab, 'I don't see the sarcophagus around here anymore, do you?' He smiled.

'It's in containment,' Knox said hurriedly, fighting down his panic. 'I put it in containment.'

'Uhuh - you checked it's still there?'

Knox swallowed. His mouth had gone suddenly dry and he looked around desperately. 'This was meant to be. Foretold. You can't have found a loophole. _It was foretold._'

'Yeah, you're lookin' at a man who should o' died five years ago, bud - written and everything. Don't believe everythin' you're foretold - especially if the other side have got The Powers workin' for 'em.'

'Now,' Lorne leaned forward, getting his face very close to Knox's own. His smile was dark and his eyes glittered with danger. 'I want to know all about that signature on those customs forms - and you're gonna tell me everything there is to know. So get singing, little bird.'

* * *

The Pilot's voice came over the speakers, telling everyone on the jet that they were about to start their descent towards the Santa Monica airfield - asking them to return to their seats and put on their belts. Only Spike needed to move - everyone else had stayed put for the duration of the flight.

Cordelia opened her eyes. She couldn't feign sleep any longer - but as she looked around she realised just how much misery her closed eyes had shielded her from. It had been an escape of sorts - if only a poor one - allowing her to wallow in her own unhappiness but blocking out the suffering of others.

Now she could see their grief again - and could feel it weigh in on her, feel it like a physical pressure in her chest. She would be relieved when she got back to Wolfram and Hart, back to Doyle; when she could hold him close and stave off the misery by clinging on to him.

And maybe - once they were back, with the books, back in their own city - maybe there would be a way to put this all right. Or to move on. Whatever happened next, at least they wouldn't be trapped in this confined space - unable to do anything but dwell. The future may seem much bleaker than it had just two days ago - but at least once she was off this plane she could at least start to meet it. Take some action. Find ways to come to terms with … whatever the hell had happened - and move forward. Even if they didn't want to.

For now they were stuck inside these metal walls, like mosquitoes trapped in the amber of their own grief. But things would be better once they were off the plane. Things would be better once they were home. Things would be better when she was back with Doyle.

* * *

'So it was you?' Gunn asked, 'who signed the forms? The doctor tried to get me to do it - someone tried to get Lilah to do it. And in the end - you did?' He wrinkled his brow, 'so why try so many different channels first? Why not just get straight on it? Those customs forms are what led us to you in the first place.'

'Oh no - you don't get it.' Knox shook his head. His panic seemed to be subsiding now - and there was a light back in his eyes, almost gleeful, now he was back on the surer grounds of the customs forms. 'I didn't have the authority to get that thing out - otherwise, you're right - I would never have jeopardised the plan by bringing it to other people's attention. But it needed to be a big wig. Someone on the senior management of the firm. Customs don't release dubious packages on the say so of any old schmuck.'

'Senior management? You mean one of us…?' Gunn shook his head, 'nuhuh, I don't believe it. I know I didn't do it. Lorne?'

But Lorne shook his head as well - the first he had heard about the customs forms was when he'd caught a glimpse of them in Lilah's aura when she sang for him.

'Maybe a Senior Partner - or one o' their acolytes?' Doyle suggested, 'we know they're mixed up in this … somehow. Maybe this is how.'

Knox laughed out loud. 'Oh - you'd like it to be outside the little family wouldn't you? Put the blame on someone you're happy to beat up. Team white hat, Ladies and gentlemen - insular, frightened … and violent.'

'Hey - you tell me who allowed this to happen to Fred and I'll hurt 'em. I don't care what team they're on,' Gunn said. Doyle and Lorne made noises of agreement. But Knox's face split into a grin of wicked delight. 'Is that true?'

'Damn straight.'

'I wonder.'

'Just tell us who's behind this,' Gunn snapped.

'OK,' he shrugged, 'but don't shoot the messenger.' And still grinning, he slowly reached into his inside pocket and drew out the customs forms. He unfolded them, deliberately, tantalisingly slow - and then shook them out, holding them up so that the team could see the signature scrawled across the dotted line. The three of them stared.

* * *

Fred twisted her hands in her lap. Wesley wasn't talking to her - everyone was gloomy, like someone had died or something. Was it her? Was she dead? And they were just … too polite to mention it? She bit her lip until she could taste the metallic tang of blood. Blood - see, she still bled. That was human, right? Blood. Guts. Spilling out of you like meat and sauce from a taco. That was all human. That was all Fred.

Fred … the girl who read from a book and got lost in a strange world, who hid in a cave and was rescued from the monsters by a handsome man. She remembered that - that was her. And she remembered the grief - of being so far from home - the pain that made it feel like she was suffocating. Like she was suffocating in her own skin now. Surrounded by the grief of others.

Her hands stopped twisting and she stiffened up. Her head cocked to one side as her cold, blue eyes considered her companions. They were grieving. She was witnessing human grief. It was like offal in her mouth. And they grew bold - sitting so close to her. And as this … flying machine descended through the clouds she caught sight of what lay beneath. Buildings as high as small mountains - cramped together, with no space to move between them - no freedom, bound into tiny boxes of their own making - prisons they fashioned for themselves. This was a world of humans. Overrun by their limited, mewling kind. If she did not want to be trapped in one of these prisons, like she was trapped in the prison of her shell, then she would have much work to do before she could make this world her home.

Her fingers began to twist again. Her shoulders slumped. Home. She would be home soon and this would be over. And if she was in her home, with her things, then maybe she would be Fred. And Wesley would talk to her again. Would hold her in his arms and tell her he loved her. Or was home Texas? Or was it her cave? She needed her things. Wherever they were - the hotel or Pylea, her things would remind her who she was. Anchor her in this body. She needed Feigenbaum. If she could just hold Feigenbaum then she would be Fred for sure.

* * *

Gunn ripped the form from Knox's hand, and the others gathered round - turning their backs on their prisoner. 'This … this doesn't make sense,' Gunn said, not believing his own eyes. But it was written plainly in front of him - a looping, curling signature across the dotted line: Winifred Burkle

'Freddles signed her own death warrant,' Lorne breathed, his tone both hushed and sad. 'Why would she…'

'I'm guessin' she was talked into it,' Doyle said. 'You know how trustin' she could be. Saw good in everyone. She'd make a much easier mark than Lilah.' He closed his eyes, as he remembered the liaison's words. Only an idiot would fall for such a ruse - or a whitehat. That was Fred all over, too good to doubt the motives of others. As he opened his eyes again, he fancied he saw a blur - some disturbance of the air shooting past him. He shook his head. 'And no prizes for guessin' exactly which snake in the grass it was who did the convincin'.' He turned to look at Knox. the others followed his gaze.

Knox wasn't there. The stool was empty. The lab was empty - except for themselves. Knox had vanished.


	64. Shells: Part Three

_Part Three_

The bell dinged and the team stepped out of the elevator, just as the men came down the stairs into the lobby. Angel was carrying Fred in his arms once more - and Gunn, Lorne and Doyle pulled up short when they saw the blue of her hair and eyes. '_Fred?' _Gunn asked, his voice tinged with disbelief - but Angel only shook his head at him, now was not the moment for questions.

All the warriors returned home from England looked weary beyond belief, their faces pale and wan, their general demeanour beat down, dejected. As she stepped into the lobby, Cordelia threw her arms around Doyle, and just held him for a moment - breathing slowly, drinking him in; relieved beyond words it was not them who had been torn apart by the infection of an Old One.

'Hey, Princess,' he murmured, wrapping his own arms around her, in return, gripping her tightly. He planted a gentle, welcome home kiss on her temple as she continued to hold onto him. 'I missed you,' she said at last.

'Yeah? I missed you too. How was England?'

'Not as good as last time.'

The rest of the team all filed past them, headed for the office - whilst they stayed wrapped up in each other for a few tender moments longer. But even as absorbed with Cordelia as he was, Doyle couldn't fail to notice the look Spike gave him as he walked past.

The Irishman frowned - it was a strange look. He couldn't decipher it but, for some reason, Spike seemed to find him fascinating.

* * *

Angel placed Fred down on the couch in his office. She sat there silent - unmoving - as if she had barely noticed she was no longer in his arms. With a silent jerk of his head, he indicated to the others that they should follow him into the conference room, leaving her alone.

Once inside, he pulled the connecting door to and looked around at his friends - sitting round the table - unsure what to say. 'Connor's in bed?' he asked at last, starting with the easy stuff. Gunn nodded. 'I put him down a while back - left him with an au pair. He should sleep right through 'til morning.'

'Good good,' Angel rubbed his face and then took his place at the head of the conference table. 'Gives us some time to try and get our heads around … to try and sort out…' he glanced back at the slightly ajar door. Fred was just visible, sitting on the couch, stiff and still.

'What's happened to her?' Gunn asked, leaning forward and lowering his voice. He glanced to his side at Wesley - who seemed just as catatonic as Fred was. 'I know you guys said it was complicated but … I thought taking her to the well was supposed to save her?'

'I think it did,' Angel told him, his voice was as strained and as wearied as his voice. 'At least - it saved as much as was possible. The - she … her body is still alive. And there's definitely some Fred in there - her memories. But …'

'But it's not enough,' Wesley finished up. His voice choked on his last word. Everybody turned to look at him, and he inhaled deeply before he carried on. 'Illyria is still inside of her - in some … form or other. Changing her. Making her … different.'

'Hence the new look,' Spike added.

'I don't get it.' Lorne looked around between the people who had just come back, hoping someone could explain it to him - and explain it in a way that meant Fred would be OK. 'She's Fred _and_ Illyria? I thought summoning her coffin to the well was supposed to suck all that mummy dust out of her? Leave her good as new?'

'As far as we can tell, the infection of Illyria got into her every cell - even into her brain,' Angel explained to the three men who had been left behind. 'You know how she was - her organs cooking… she … we think she collapsed in on herself - everything dying - and was reborn once Illyria was pulled out. When her brain collapsed, electrical spasms channelled into her function systems … giving her the memories of Illyria … the mannerisms.'

'And maybe more besides,' Spike put his feet up on the table and crossed his legs at his ankles - one boot lying atop the other.

'Illyria's left some physical traits behind as well,' Doyle surmised, crossing his arms across his chest and hanging his head low as he thought about it. 'Hence the blue hair.'

'And the eyes,' Cordelia added, with a shudder.

'That too,' Spike nodded. He narrowed his eyes and watched the two of them closely. Focusing particularly on Doyle. The Irishman could feel his eyes on him even with his head down. 'The keeper of the well spoke to me, before we left,' Spike told them all. 'He said - he said Fred is more than she used to be. And I don't really feature he was having a wiggins because some of her memories are a bit screwy or she got some blue highlights.'

'Drogyn thinks she may have some of Illyria's power,' Angel said.

Spike nodded. 'I reckon that's about it, yeah. Only no one alive has ever seen the power of an Old One up close and personal - we don't really know what that will look like. Or how it will affect little Fred.'

* * *

They were just worried about her, she guessed. Sittin' in there - talking things over - like the champions they all were. She was lucky to have champions - real live heroes - in her life, to sit in there and worry about her - and try not to worry_ her_ about her. They would figure something out - they always did, ever since they had jumped through that portal and saved her from Pylea - they were always rescuing her.

Angel - the handsome man, and Spike who had sacrificed his own life to close a hellmouth, and Cordy - a real live slayer who had been a champion before anyone handed her powers, and Doyle with his visions, and Gunn and Lorne always ready to mix things up - get stuck in. And Wesley. Book man. Knowledge man. Who always came through - no matter what.

And she was just Fred. Little ol' Fred - with her physics and her tacos and her Star Trek commemorative plates that she'd accidentally bought off ebay that one time. She should sit out here - let the heroes do the worrying, let the champions do the saving. And if it came to a fight …

...Then let the insignificant mayflies try her. Let them challenge her. So the apes of old had grown bold? They were still as nothing to her: dust in the wind, sand grains upon a shore that could not hope to stand against the tide of her power. Her armies would ravage this world and take it for her own - and there was nothing these lowly creatures could do to stand in her way, no matter how they postured. Talking together - about her - she would crush them all…

* * *

'Boy do I not wanna but … maybe I should read her?' Lorne suggested, looking around at the others - looking at Angel questioningly. He loved Fred and wanted to help in any way he could, wanted to make this right - to be the white knight on his charger. They all wanted to be the white knight right now. But if they didn't know what was in that little blue package, and they wanted to find out for sure, then surely this was a job for his own expertise?

'It's an idea,' Angel nodded, 'but not tonight,' he glanced back at the door. 'I don't think we should overcrowd her, tonight. Whatever's in there - it will still be there in the morning. I think we all need to … come to terms with what's...'

He was cut off by a sarcastic little choke coming from Wesley. Angel frowned at him, but the British man wasn't paying attention to that. 'Come to terms?' he asked, again he sounded like he was choking on his words - choking on his grief. 'Fred is gone. Don't you understand that?' His blue eyes shone brightly with unshed tears.

'We don't know that, Wes,' Angel told him, firmly. 'Things are not that simple.'

'Not that …? That … _creature_ in there is not Winifred Burkle.'

'_Wesley!' _Cordelia admonished him - sounding shocked at his words. But he refused to be quieted. 'Fred was soft and loving and warm. She was the gentlest spirit and the bravest soul I ever knew. She was the very best of all of us.' The rest of the team looked down, as they heard his words, delivered in a fierce and heartbroken whisper, and contemplated what was lost. But he wasn't finished. 'But in there,' he pointed towards the door, 'what's in there is cold and stiff and still. It looks at us all with those frost blue eyes and knows none of us - and cares even less. It doesn't know _me_…' he broke off, unable to go on.

'Easy there, bud,' Doyle said to him gently. 'Not all of Fred is gone - and we can help her. But let's not go round callin' her 'it', yeah?'

'You don't know what this is like,' Wesley told him. He'd got to his feet now, his hands leaning on the table. Each word was punctuated with a half sob - but his voice was still quiet and he kept his eyes fixed straight on Doyle - who stared straight back, not dropping eye contact. 'If that - in there,' he pointed again, 'if that was Cordelia…'

'Then I'd be in there with her,' Doyle cut him off. 'If any part of her was Cordelia, I would still love her and nothin' - _nothin'_ \- would stop me bein' at her side.'

'Even if she looked at you like a carnivorous insect regarding its prey? You've never looked into the eyes of the woman you loved and seen nothing but a she-mantis staring back at you. But let me tell you, it rather kills the romance. Fred is gone - and we have to accept that.'

'Dammit Wesley!' Angel slammed his hands against the table and got to his feet - so he was level with the watcher. As he did, he thought he caught a blur out of the corner of his eye - but then it was gone, and he was concentrating on his friend. 'I know this is hard for you. No - I do…' he reiterated as Wesley opened his mouth to argue. 'Buffy _died,_ remember? She died. I know what's it like to lose the love of your life - and think they're not ever coming back.'

'But _Buffy was gone!_ You didn't have to look at her form - to see her face - and know it wasn't really her. You don't know what that's like. You can't.'

'I do.' Everyone turned to look at Spike. He cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. 'When Buffy died … see, we had this robot that looked like her. Kid called Warren made it - real whizz with robotics. It looked just like her. It sounded just like her. It fought just like her … but it wasn't her. And it never would be. And I had to see that bot every damn day. Had to go on patrol with it, had to see it in Buffy's house when I babysat the niblet, see it in her room…'

He sighed and looked at Wesley. 'So I know what it's like to lose the woman you love and still see her every day. But the difference between the Buffybot and the bird in there - that bird is a real flesh and blood person, and a person with a whole lot of Fred in 'em. Buffybot was just wires and plastic and specially programmed punning capabilities. There was nothing left for me. But there is for you.'

Wesley was staring at him, breathing sharply through his nose - looking like he still wanted to argue but wasn't sure how. Cordelia however, had wrinkled her nose and was thinking about something else. 'How come you had a robot that looked exactly the same as Buffy?' she asked.

'Oh - um - well,' Spike shuffled in his seat, uncomfortably, 'we just had her lying about the place so … what are we gonna do about Fred?'

Angel sighed. 'Well I guess we should …' he frowned, turning back to the door that led to his office - wondering what they should do next. And that was when he saw the empty couch. Fred was gone.

* * *

Knox had just pulled up outside his apartment block, not even switched the engine off, when the glass of the window smashed in and he felt strong arms pulling him bodily through the gap and then dropping him onto the ground. He leaned against his car door and looked up - and grinned when he saw who it was; how she had been changed. 'I knew you would come for me.'

* * *

A quick sweep of the building told them that Fred had disappeared completely, she was not anywhere within Wolfram and Hart. Gunn pulled the tapes from security and the team gathered round watching the footage.

It showed half of the team arriving back from England and meeting the others in the lobby, Cordelia and Doyle's reunion and Angel taking Fred into his office, followed by everyone else following him inside. Then nothing happened - beyond paralegals crossing the foyer and Harmony sitting at her desk, rearranging her unicorns.

'Fast forward it,' Angel said, 'we spoke for a while before she vanished - I saw her sitting there during our meeting.'

Gunn pressed the button and they all leaned further forward, carefully watching the sped up images for any sign of Fred. 'Wait - what was that?' Lorne asked - as a blur suddenly shot through the other people in the lobby. 'Go back.'

'You think she moved really fast?' Doyle asked. Angel nodded thoughtfully, 'you know - I did see a blur out of the corner of my eye while we were talking.'

But now Gunn had rewound back to before the blur and was playing back at regular speed. 'No,' Lorne said, as they all watched Fred appear in the doorway and made a gesture with her arm. 'She didn't move fast - everyone else was moving really slow.' And sure enough, Fred walked out of the lobby at normal speed whilst everyone else around her slowed down to a glacial pace - moving in slow motion without even realising it.

'She can affect time?' Cordelia sounded shocked, 'just - wave her hand and slow everyone down? How is that possible?'

'We knew Illyria contained great power,' Angel told her, 'now we're beginning to see what that is.'

Doyle was glancing uneasily at Gunn, thinking about how his brain implant had degraded so quickly, how the power he wasn't supposed to have had just burned up and faded away. 'What will bearing that kind o' power do to Fred?' he asked, worriedly. 'A human body is not equipped to contain those kinds o' abilities. It's too much. How will she cope?'

'Likely she won't,' Wesley answered. 'The power of Illyria will consume her - and probably kill her.'

* * *

Knox got back to his feet, still chuckling. 'My life is yours,' he told Fred, 'I worship you.' She cocked her head to one side, fixing him in her mantis gaze. 'Yes, I know - worship.'

'They said you wouldn't rise - that they had stopped it. But I knew, I knew your power was too great. No loophole could outfox a plan laid down since the earth was new. You are … my destiny.'

'I am your destiny.' She repeated his words slowly, as if considering them, 'but what am I?'

'You are … you are my god.'

'Am I then?' She turned and began to walk away. He hurried after her, still gabbling away. 'You know - this is a big day for me. I've been waiting so long.' He laughed, 'the things I've done to get you here.'

She stopped and turned back to look at him, surveying him with her unsettling blue eyes. 'You are the Qwa'ha Xahn.'

He nodded, and gave an ungainly half bow - before straightening up and beginning to unbutton his shirt. 'I am your priest, I am your servant, I am your guide in this world.' Shirt open, he pulled up his vest to reveal his bare chest - and an ugly scar close to his heart, and odd lumps just under his skin. 'I've taken your sacraments and placed them close to my heart according to the ancient ways.'

Fred traced her fingers across the misshapen bumps, wonderingly - and then let her hand drop. 'That's why you were called to me,' he told her, 'We're bound together.'

She looked him up and down. 'My last Qwa'ha Xahn was taller.'

'Well - I may be shrinking a little in the glory of your presence.'

'This world…' she looked around at their surroundings - at the tall buildings and the cars driving past. 'It's …' she began to back away and tremble. 'I don't understand. I know this place. It's home - but I don't know it and I remember... God! I remember such horrible things, in my head; death and bloodshed and war. They're not my memories - I don't want to see them. But I can.' She closed her eyes tightly - and tears began to leak down. 'I can't make them stop,' she sobbed.

Knox had stopped smiling. He stared at her - unsure… and afraid. '_Fred?' _

'It was my name! It was! I lost it - I thought I only dreamed it, but then I found it again. Handsome man saved me. And now I'm lost again. There's so much in my head and I can't…' her shoulders began to shake with her sobs. She opened her eyes again and looked at Knox. '_What did you do to me?' _

'I - I made you new. I made you better. You were perfect - and I brought you perfection. You are Illyria, Godking of the primordium.'

'This is not Illyria's world,' Fred wept. 'This world is mine - but my head - my thoughts, they're not mine anymore. There's too much. Too much inside.' She gripped her head, doubled over as if in pain and cried out. 'I remember the old world. This world, it's not what it was and I can't … It's like a prison. But it's my home. And I'm trapped in a shell, but it's my body. And I don't know who I am and I don't know what is right - I just want it to stop.'

'I can make it stop,' Knox promised her. 'I can make everything right. You just need to trust me.'

* * *

The team was back inside the conference room, talking once again. But Spike was barely listening. He was watching the Irish bloke, the one Cordelia couldn't keep her hands off. Even in the middle of this conversation, she was holding his hand - and he was stroking her skin softly with his thumb.

This guy was a total stranger - to Spike at least. Though every other bugger in the room seemed to know him. And it appeared beyond all reasonable doubt that this guy was Cordy's boyfriend. But … _Doyle_ was Cordy's boyfriend. Everyone always talked about them like they were a bloody double act. Inseparable. Two halves of the same whole. Doyle and Cordy. Cordelia and Doyle. You didn't get one without the other. So either she'd changed boyfriends very suddenly and nobody seemed to have noticed or …

Or _Doyle _wasn't Doyle. The bloke who had approached him with the visions was some other guy entirely. And for some reason they were pretending to be this guy, right here. And if this guy right here was the real bearer of the visions, then maybe _Doyle_ was only pretending to have those as well. Which meant Spike wasn't a champion working for the PTB, he was a prat working for some fantasist with dodgy motives of his own.

If this little man, with the chest hair and the loud shirt, was the real Doyle - and judging by the way everyone else treated him, he was - then who the bloody hell had Spike been talking to all these months? And what was his game?

...

'OK - so we know Fred has inherited some of Illyria's powers, as well as her memories. We know that can't be good for her. And we know we don't know where she is,' Angel was saying. He looked around at his team, 'is there anything we know that can help us find her - and fast?'

'Maybe,' Doyle told him. 'We did some research whilst you guys were gone,' he indicated himself and Gunn, 'read through the Dreadhost's compendium … we found out some stuff.'

'Like what?'

'Like Illyria's got themselves some acolytes still on the surface of the earth. They're the ones got the coffin here in the first place,' Gunn said. 'There's a chief priest - called the Qwa'ha Xahn, he's Illyria's guide in the world. It's likely she'll seek him out.'

'Right - any ideas who this Qwa'ha … whatsit is?'

Gunn shrugged, 'well my money is either on the doctor - or Knox.'

'I reckon Knox,' Doyle agreed.

'_Knox?' _ Wesley stared between both men, not believing what he was hearing. 'What's he got to do with all this?'

'Everythin',' Doyle told him. 'He's the one that arranged for the coffin to arrive here - organised gettin' it out of customs. He chose Fred to be Illyria's vessel. He's - uh - he's worshipped Illyria since he was a kid.'

'Where is he?'

'Kid did a midnight flit,' Lorne said, 'just as we were getting to work on him. One second he was there and then - nothing.'

'Oh - so you just let him get away, didn't think he was worth pursuing?' Wesley's voice was bitingly sarcastic, and his eyes were furious. 'Wesley,' Cordelia said to him, softly, 'this isn't the guys' fault - blaming them won't help Fred.'

'There is no Fred!' the watcher cried for the second time.

But Angel was not accepting that as an answer. 'There is. Fred is still in there - still fighting for control of her own body, and we need to help her win that war. That means finding her - which means finding Knox. But if he just vanished…'

'I thought I saw a blur, before I realised he was gone,' Doyle said, 'just like you with …'

'So you think he has some of Illyria's power, that he can control time too?'

The Irishman shrugged, 'maybe - maybe he found a way to harness it.'

'OK so a super powerful being and a high priest whose power is an unknown entity - where would they go?' Angel asked.

'The book told us about a temple. Illyria's temple. Kept their army inside o' it. Called Vahla Ha'nesh. It's where she was supposed to be resurrected.'

'And where the hell is it?'

* * *

Fred and Knox stood outside the bank. 'I know it doesn't look much,' he said apologetically. She tilted her head. 'It is out of phase with this time stream, the temple is beyond a gate only Illyria can open.'

'Only _you_ can open,' he told her.

She looked at him - he shuffled uncomfortably under her scrutiny. 'Perhaps.'

'You're resurrection didn't go quite as planned, I admit - those whitehats are better than I thought. Right now you are Fred and Illyria - but you only need be one. We can unlock your temple, release your armies - and you can lay siege to this world and lay claim to it as your own.'

'And that will make me right again?'

'It will make you Illyria.'

'And what about Fred?'

'Fred is … Fred was … you are more than she ever was now. To live as Fred, as a human, you have too much glory - too much greatness to be such a small, insignificant thing. This...' he gestured towards the bank, indicating where her temple was hidden in a time slip, 'this is what you deserve. What you were born to be.' And without giving her a moment to think about it, or a chance to argue, he took her hand and led her inside.

Security tried to stop them - but with the same sweeping gesture of her arm that the team had witnessed on the tapes - she slowed down the guards and then beat them unconscious before they had taken their next step. She walked over their bodies. 'Humans used to be different - weak. They are still fragile. And yet they control the world - took it from my kind and made it their own.'

Knox followed after her, clutching his satchel. 'Well you know - they got those opposable thumbs. Fire. Television. What they lack in strength they make up for in extraordinary sneakiness.'

'You called Fred sneaky,' she remembered. 'And yet it was you all along who was planning to betray her - to betray me.'

'Not you - you are Illyria. I did this for you.'

'I am nothing.'

'You are _everything_. Now open the gateway. Raise your army. Wash humanity from the face of the earth and reclaim what was lost to you so many millennia ago, when the world was ruled by -'

'Good gosh would you shut up already!'

'Oh - uh - right.' He gave her a worried glance - not wanting Fred to surface when they were so very close to his goal. It wasn't like there were two people inside of her - it was more like there were three. There was Fred, as she had always been - though so upset and terribly afraid. There was Illyria - or traces of them, who looked at them all like they were insects. And there was the middle ground - the balance between both - who just wanted to understand what they were, wanted one personality to win above the other - but didn't seem to care much which one won, as long as the struggle was over. This personality was malleable, Illyria was what he wanted, but Fred would cause trouble.

She gave him a disgusted glance and then turned to examine the air in front of her. To Fred there was nothing there but, flickering in the darkest recesses of her memories, Illyria could feel the way the air bent around their time stream - could feel the call of their temple beyond it. She thrust her hand out - and a gust of wind blew through the bank, blowing her hair back … but other than that, nothing happened. 'The entrance is blocked.'

'Oh I was afraid of that, Wolfram and Hart probably threw a lock on it. They're very big on things happening to their timetable.' He raised his satchel, 'but don't worry - I brought my skeleton key.'

Fred looked around her, wrapping her arms about herself. 'Wolfram and Hart … I work for them, I … in the lab … we went there … we shouldn't have gone. The Senior Partners...' But then her arms fell and her head tilted. '... Were once creatures of weakness, the Wolf, Ram and Hart… barely above the vampire.'

'Huh - I guess they beefed up,' Knox said. He had knelt down and was now arranging a small pile of bones ready for the ritual. He muttered some words and cast a shimmering blue powder over the bones - and then watched as they disappeared, melting into thin air. He got back to his feet, chuckling. 'Show time.'

'Any seats left?' They both turned to look - the entire team stood there - inside the bank, looking at them, ready to fight. It was Spike who had spoken.

'If not we could just stand in the back,' Angel said. Fred stared at them - and then cried out and gripped her head, once more.

'Guys - check the headlines, you can't win this,' Knox said to them.

'Really?' Cordelia raised an eyebrow - and then looked pointedly at where Fred was holding her head and screwing her eyes shut. 'Your primordial soup deity seems a little unsure of themselves right now. Seems like maybe there might still be something left for us to fight for.'

'Then you'll die.'

'Willing to risk it.'

'Fred?' Angel ignored Knox completely and spoke only to the woman who had her eyes screwed up in pain. 'Fred, I know you're hurting. I know everything is different - and you can remember things that don't belong in your head. And you have powers that you didn't have before. But you are still Winifred Burkle - and we need you to come home with the people who love you.'

'How can I still be Fred?' She cried out, her hands still curled into fists, gripping her blue hair - her eyes tight shut and her face creased with the agony of the war raging inside her head. 'These things I can see, these things I can remember - I - I don't just see them. I want them now. _And I don't know why._' She began to cry, a little bowed figure - alone in the room, surrounded by her family.

'We can help you with all that,' Angel promised. 'We can find a way to make it stop - we can help you be Fred again - who you were. But to be Fred, you have to be with the people who know and love you. Who can show you what that means.'

'What if it means nothing? You say I should come with you. Knox says I should open the temple … and I just want my head to be quiet. I wanna do whatever it takes to make my head quiet.'

'You don't wanna open that temple,' Angel told her evenly. The team began to inch their way forward - they were spread out and so were encircling Knox and Fred, and now they were tightening that circle.

'Why not?' she asked.

'Because you open that temple - and an army of doom spills out. And all the people die. You don't want that.'

'How do you know that?' She cried, her lower lip still trembling - her eyes still scrunched shut.

'Because I know _you_. Fred - you don't want anybody to be hurt. You don't want anyone to be killed.'

She straightened up - and her eyes opened, 'even him?' she asked, pointing at Knox. They all stared at him, he looked surprised. 'Er - what? Is that an issue? Is my life in some jeopardy here? Boss? King?'

'Even Knox,' Angel said, nodding his head slowly. Then he turned to look at the other man. 'You're about as low as it gets, Knox. You betrayed the woman you claimed to care about - destroyed her life to bring forth your God. But she still wouldn't want you killed. Because Fred is good - and she believes in justice, not vengeance. And for all you may deserve to be boiled alive and fed to the alligators, you're a part of humanity - and Fred would fight for you, and so would I. Because we're champions - all of us - and so we don't kill people. Not even people like -'

BAM. Angel's speech was cut off by the thunder of a shotgun going off - and then Knox was lying dead on the floor. Angel turned to look at Wesley, the gun in the watcher's hands was still smoking. 'Were you even listening?' the vampire demanded.


	65. Shells: Part Four

_Part Four_

Fred stared down at the body on the floor. 'You killed the Qwa'ha Xahn,' she said blankly, turning to look at Wesley. The two halves of herself were fighting inside of her. Anger from Illyria at the death of her acolyte, and grief from Fred - that a champion - that Wesley - was murdering humans. The battle raged inside her - and so the balancing personality came to the fore, waiting to see which side of her would emerge victorious.

'He murdered the woman I love …' Wesley said, his gun was now pointed at Fred. 'He murdered _you_.'

'And so that made it just.' She nodded.

'No!' Angel was shooting annoyed glances at Wesley, 'that didn't make it just. He shouldn't have done that - that was vengeance. We're not about vengeance. We're about doing what's right. And right now - what's right is for you to forget about all this and come home with us.'

'I come home with you. You make things right. Handsome man saves me.'

'That's right,' he nodded encouragingly, 'that's how it works.'

But Fred doubled over in pain - and cried out again, gripping at her hair once more as her human side surfaced. 'But she won't let me! Won't let me forget. I want to come home. I want to be saved. Angel, I want you to save me!' Her voice was a heartbroken plea, choking on her sobs. 'But she won't let me,' she gasped as she felt Illyria batter against her psyche. '- Won't let me cast her out. Illyria is deep inside - clawing at my mind. She won't go lightly - she won't go. She's angry - the Qwa'ha Xahn has been destroyed - her priest - you dared kill it - you insignificant maggots killed her Qwa'ha Xahn.'

'But in our defence - he had it coming,' Spike said. Angel shot him an angry look as well, and the blonde vampire fired back a 'what did I do?' shrug.

'She wants to destroy you all,' Fred cried, 'and I can't fight her - she's inside of me and … she's so strong. She's so strong. I can't hold on. I can't...' She shook her head, her tears were streaking down her face, leaking from beneath her closed eyes, and her whole face was crumpled up, as she wept.

'You can hold on, Fred,' Angel said to her - edging ever closer to the weeping figure. 'You're every bit as strong as Illyria was. You hid for five years in a cave and kept yourself safe, in a world of nightmares - and then came home and rebuilt your life. You saw through Jasmine and freed us all - freed the whole world from her spell. You're a hero, Fred, same as the rest of us, and you can fight this - you can fight anything.'

'No - I can't, I can't.' She broke down and dropped to the floor - sobbing in a crumpled heap. Her body quivered for a few moments and then went still. 'Fred?' The team edged closer. The figure on the floor tensed up and then sat up and stared at them, her eyes cold and terrifying.

'Illyria,' Wesley realised - and pointed his gun at her.

'Wes!' Cordelia started to say, incensed at him raising a weapon at Fred's body - no matter who was in control right now. But before she could even get the full syllable out, Fred had raised her arm and, with the same movement they had seen on the security tapes, she slowed down time around herself.

By the time Wesley was moving at normal speed again, the gun was in Fred's hand and she was pointing the barrel squarely at him.

'No!' Cordelia pushed forward and gripped the shotgun with one hand, tugging at it to disarm her friend. She pulled - with all her strength - and nothing happened. Fred still held onto the gun. Cordelia stared at her, brown eyes meeting frosty blue ones, not understanding how this could be - and then Fred tilted her head and smacked the other woman a hard backhander.

Cordy was thrown backwards through the air - she flew across the bank and then smashed through the windows, falling to the earth surrounded by the shattered fragments of the pane.

'Cordelia!' with a horrified glance at the blue haired woman, Doyle ran to his girlfriend's side. She was lying still on the ground, a trickle of blood dripping from her head. She was still breathing - but she was out cold. He stared up at Fred, breathing hard - wondering how it could be that she now had the power to render a vampire slayer unconscious with just one punch.

Angel, Spike and Gunn launched themselves towards her, but Fred ducked the swing of Angel's fist and threw him across the room. She punched Spike in the chest, knocking him flying into the opposite wall and then kicked Knox's dead body at Gunn, downing him. Then she threw the shotgun hard at Wesley's head, knocking him down as well. Lorne - left standing alone - began to back away. 'Fred - sweetie ...' he started to say.

'You would dare speak to me?'

'I - uh - pumpkin … it's Lorne.'

'The Burkle persona remembers "Lorne". She even feels love for him. But I care not.' And she hit him, knocking him out cold.

...

Out on the sidewalk, Cordelia was coming round - she sat up, groaning and holding her head … and then saw all the damage that had been done whilst she was unconscious. 'Fred did all that?' she gasped.

Beside her, Doyle shook his head. 'Fred aint driving right now.'

'We need to get her back - we need to stop her.' Doyle helped her back to her feet and together they made their way back inside the bank - where Fred was easily dodging the blows that the two vampires were raining down on her, bending in ways that shouldn't be possible. Then she grabbed each man by the arm and spun, until their feet left the floor and then she let go and they flew away in opposite directions.

'Stay back,' Cordelia said to Doyle, as she took a few steps closer to Fred. Doyle hung back, but he was anxious. 'Cordy, be careful.'

'I will be.'

Fred turned, saw her approaching and swung a punch at her. But she ducked. 'You move quickly,' Fred stated, tilting her head in the unsettling, insect way that she did now.

'I pack a pretty mean punch too,' she landed a hit to prove her point.

'You're strong for a human.' Fred smacked her back. 'I'm stronger.' Cordelia fell to the floor, but immediately she swung her leg out and tripped Fred up. 'I'm sneakier,' she replied.

'Yes - you humans pride yourselves on being deceivers.' She flipped herself back up right. 'But it won't be enough.'

Cordelia did the same - and hit her again. 'Beg to differ.'

'You cannot beat me. You're human. Stronger than most but still human.'

Cordelia kicked her in the chest. 'I'm a slayer, and lady, the first of my kind kicked the last of your kind right out of this dimension. So if you want a rematch … bring it.'

'You're insolence is tiring.' She moved her arm again, sending a time wave through the air and trapping Cordelia inside. She pushed the slayer away and turned back to take on the vampires - who were regaining their feet.

Behind them, the time wave collapsed and Cordelia was catapulted outwards, crashing into Doyle. They both fell to the floor, tumbling over Knox's body as they landed. Something large and pink had fallen out of Knox's satchel and was just lying on the floor beside him. Doyle snatched it up, recognising it from his vision - this was one of the crystals that had been on the sarcophagus. Knox had obviously pried it loose and taken it. The Irishman frowned. He didn't know what other powers this gem might possess - but he was willing to bet that this was what had allowed Knox to control time, had allowed him to slow everyone else down - the way Illyria could - and so escape the lab.

He looked up. Fred was beating the two vampires into bloody pulps. Cordelia was getting back to her feet. Wesley and Gunn were likewise coming round and getting up. Faced with a whole band of warriors coming at her at once, Fred moved her arm - beginning to cast another time wave at her opponents.

Realising what she was doing, Doyle ducked low to try and avoid it. 'Angel!' he called out - and then threw the crystal at the vampire. Angel caught it, just as the time wave hit. Cordelia, Spike, Gunn and Wesley were all slowed down to that glacial pace - but Angel remained unaffected.

When Fred turned, he was standing right behind her - and smacked her a hard backhand. She staggered, clutching her face. 'How?'

He held up the crystal as an explanation. She smiled grimly, 'sneaky.' Then, copying Cordelia's earlier move, she scythed her leg out and took Angel's ankles out from under him. Spike rushed her and she punched him in the gut - and then she stretched her arms out, the wind began to blow again - and this time the portal opened up in a black, smoking swirl. She ran for it. With a glance at each other - Wes and Gunn followed her, diving through the hole before the portal closed up again - leaving the others trapped outside.

* * *

They landed hard on the cold stones of the temple. Wesley rolled and grimaced in pain - and then stared up at this ancient monument. The air in here was stale, having been sealed off for millennia and, though the pillars stood strong, there was an air of decay; the stones crumbling and mould growing upon them.

'What is this place?' Gunn asked, taking in the massive space, and the hushed atmosphere - deadly quiet and echoing.

'Illyria's temple. Vahla Ha'nesh.'

'That'd be the place she keeps her legion of doom?' He looked around again, '...gravy.'

'You're too late,' they heard Fred call out to them. The small, blue haired figure was striding away heading up the steps towards the nave of their temple. 'My army will rise. This world will be mine once again.' She stepped out into the nave and looked around … the roof had caved in, debris - large hunks of rubble - scattered the ground. The colossal votive statue had been pulled down - and lay in pieces, some great chunks, others crumbling away to powder. The columns were fallen, or crumbling … and her army of doom was petrified, turned to stone - and long dead.

'No.' She fell to her knees. Wesley and Gunn climbed the stairs and came to a stop behind her, seeing what she was seeing. She picked up a handful of the powder - her army and her temple turned to sand - and let it run through her fingers. 'My world is gone,' she stated.

Wesley stared down at her. 'Now you know how I feel.'

* * *

'So - we failed then,' Spike said glumly. 'Portal opened and the evil twin gone through … I guess we can be expecting a legion of doom to start rampaging through Downtown any minute.'

'We need to fall back - regroup,' Angel told the others. 'Head back to the office- mount up…'

'And then what?' Lorne sat on the floor, his arms wrapped around his knees and his head hanging low. 'Angelcakes - it's going to take more than a handful of broadswords to take down an entire army. We can't fight a legion off by ourselves. It's gonna take a miracle - and we're running low on those at the minute.'

* * *

The kneeling figure hunched over, and then her shoulders began to shake. 'I want to go home,' her voice was small and trembling again. 'This place … it's a place of death. I wanna go home.'

'Fred?' Gunn asked, taking a step towards her and reaching his hand out, hoping that the other personality had surfaced - his friend.

'I just want this to go away. Please… Wesley…' She looked up - and stared at the watcher, the tears falling from her blue eyes - streaking pathways down her cheeks. But Wesley just stared at her. Unable to move. Unable to comfort her whilst her eyes were that unnatural and harsh blue.

'Come on, Fred,' Gunn crouched down and put an arm around her waist, helping her back to her feet. 'Let's go.' With his arms still wrapped around her, he led her back down the stairs - headed for the gateway.

'Charles, take me home.'

'I will - I promise.'

Up in the temple, Wesley heard the sound of the portal opening. Even when Fred was at the fore, she still had the power to tear away dimension walls, walk between worlds. She was beyond Fred now - more than Fred … but Fred had already been perfect. He felt like staying here - in this temple of ash, of broken dreams and destroyed hopes, in this world lost and turned to sand. He felt like staying until he too began to crumble and just blew away on the stale wind. But after a moment, he followed Gunn and … _the creature_ back out into the real world.

* * *

Angel closed his office door - hoping to shut out the world. Gunn and Lorne had taken Fred home, they were going to stay with her for the night; make sure … he didn't honestly know what they were making sure, but nobody thought it was a good idea to leave Fred on her own right now. Wesley was … he had taken himself off - he wasn't talking to anybody. And Angel understood that, he didn't want to talk to anybody either - hence the closed door.

But it was not meant to be. There was a brief knock on the door and then Doyle stuck his head round, 'can I come in?'

Angel grunted in response - and the Irishman took that as a yes, slipping inside and closing the door firmly behind him. 'Listen, bud,' he sat down on the couch and rubbed his face wearily. 'I know now's not the best time … I know you don't wanna hear it but, what happened these past few days - what happened to Fred, this is all part of the chess game.'

'You still think The Senior Partners had a hand in this?'

'I know they did. They …' he sighed, leaning back against the cushions. He just wanted to sleep. He was as depressed as any of them. But he couldn't not say this - he was the messenger, he didn't have the luxury to wait until it was less raw, the luxury to shut himself away or go to bed - not until he had given his message.

'Since we found out about the Circle of the Black Thorn, The Senior Partners are power freaking, man, tryin' to end you - tryin' to put a stop to you - tryin' to smash the entire board and start a new game. This is deeply dangerous territory we're into now. They tried to kill you with the failsafe, they've moved against …' he paused, he had promised Gunn he wouldn't betray his secret, 'well - they've made other moves against the team. And now they tried to bring back an Old One and have it wreak its army of doom right across the city. They don't care about the balance anymore, they're just in it to win.'

Angel frowned. 'Holland Manners once told me - after he'd died - that The Senior Partners had no interest in doing anything so prosaic as winning.'

'OK then - they just don't wanna lose. They've had a damn good attempt at resurrecting an Old One - and who knows what kind of trouble that will cause us down the line? How long it will be until Fred is herself again? And maybe that's all they were tryin' for - to distract y' …'

'How can you just be sure that this wasn't just Illyria's acolytes acting independently?'

'You mean all those acolytes that just happen to work for or be affiliated with Wolfram and Hart?' Doyle asked, raising his eyebrow sceptically.

'OK. But this plan has been around since before Illyria died the first time. And Illyria - they were much more powerful than The Senior Partners back in the day - why would they want to risk bringing back a loose cannon like that?'

'Because they've beefed up. They're higher powers now - and Illyria is trapped in a human body. As all powerful a Godking as they may have been, they're still a physical being on this planet. And that means they have nowhere near as much juice as the mystical beings that govern this entire universe. Illyria's a loose cannon - but they're no threat to Wolfram and Hart. But what The Senior Partner's got now is a massive distraction for you, you're grievin' over Fred and you have this major threat who might up and kill y' at any moment. But here's the thing, whatever they hoped to achieve with settin' Illyria loose on the world, it's just one small part of what they've got hidden up their sleeve. There'll be more to come - _unless _you can stop them right now.'

'I'm not ready to take on The Circle of The Black Thorn,' Angel shook his head. 'I'm working on it - finding an in. But I haven't even identified them all yet.'

'Then you need to up your game - otherwise the rest of your team will be taken from you one by one.'

Angel sighed and looked down. Doyle leaned forward on the couch and fixed the vampire in his gaze. 'This is the price of coming here. I know it's not what you wanna hear right now but…'

'No - it's fine, Doyle,' he nodded. 'I'll do whatever it takes to protect my family. You can count on that.'

There was a long moment of silence, and then Doyle nodded, got to his feet and left his friend alone.

* * *

Lorne sat in Fred's living room, holding his Seabreeze, his hands still trembling. He had sent Gunn home for the time being, saying he would take the first watch - telling the other man to get some hours shut eye whilst he stayed awake guarding Fred. The truth was, he couldn't sleep - he didn't know if he would ever sleep again - and he needed to be alone.

She was just beyond the door, in her room - surrounded by her things … but he didn't know, even from this close, which version was in there. Whether it was Freddikins, frightened and alone and hurting - or if it was the other, who looked at them as if they were bugs to be crushed, and plotted to destroy them all.

It hurt to see that blankness on the face of Fred - the sweetest, gentlest, bravest soul he had ever known - looking at the world like it was prey to be devoured. It hurt even more to see her break and tremble and cry - as Fred struggled to remember who she was and tried to fight off the memories infecting her mind. To watch her suffer was the greatest suffering he had ever known.

He took a sip of his drink. His hands shook as he raised the glass to his lips, he didn't know they would ever be steady again. He was going to have to read her. Maybe not right now, maybe not tomorrow - but he was going to have read her. He was going to have to look into her destiny, and see if there was any hope of her finding herself again - if there was a pathway she could follow which would bring her back to them - or if Illyria would win, and Fred would wither and die inside the shell of herself.

* * *

Gunn arrived home and shrugged off his jacket and took off his tie before collapsing in a chair and burying his head in his hands. He didn't know what to think or how to feel. Fred was … was she gone? Some moments it felt that way, but then he remembered how she had wept, in the temple, how she had called him 'Charles.'

There was something of Fred left - in that strange blue figure - there had to be. And they had to find a way to draw her out, keep her with them, not let Illyria win. But was Fred's soul really strong enough to wrestle with the remnants of the Old One that infected her?

And what did it mean for her - to have that kind of power? She was stronger than a vampire, stronger than a slayer. She could alter time and open up portals … and she was only Fred. How could Fred withstand all that? How could it not burn her up? He was no stranger, himself, to the way that the human body rejected power it was not meant to have. But he figured the kind of juice Fred was throwing down with would have far more catastrophic effects than a simple brain upgrade.

He began to cry - tears of grief for Fred's suffering, tears of fear - of what was to come - and tears of relief. He knew he shouldn't be feeling that right now, shouldn't be thinking about himself. But he couldn't help it.

When he walked away from that brain upgrade, refused to sign those customs forms - a part of him was sure that he was making a mistake he would regret for the rest of his life. But regret at losing his special skills - that was nothing to the hollowness of his heart, the gnawing guilt he would feel, and the desperate desire to take it back if he had been the one who let Fred get infected. Doyle had told him that one day he would be grateful that the price for signing those forms would not be his burden to bear - his guilt to carry with him - and at the time he had been doubtful. But now …

He couldn't believe it had come around so quickly. He couldn't believe the price was paid so quickly - and that it was so terrible. He couldn't believe how deeply _deeply_ grateful he was that he had turned that upgrade down. He wouldn't have been able to live with himself. This was the difference between him being able to look at himself in the mirror and having to hide himself away forever in shame. Fred's blood was not on his hands, the weight of her suffering was not on his shoulders - and so he wept with relief.

Lorne had sent him home to get some sleep - he was due back there in a few hours, to take over the watch and he needed some downtime. He hadn't slept since this nightmare had started. But the truth was, he couldn't sleep - he felt too much. He couldn't just switch it off. And he didn't want to lie in the dark and stare at the ceiling. So, after a few minutes with his head buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking: he sniffed, wiped his eyes and straightened up. Then he put on some Gilbert and Sullivan, took out his text book - and started to study the law.

* * *

Angel was still in his office - he was too numb, too weary, too depressed to make his way up to his penthouse. It was just easier to sit here - wait for the sunrise. A new day. Hopefully a better one. He was in the afterwards now. The what came next. If he had to keep putting one foot forward, in a world where his family was in danger, where they suffered for choices he had made so many years ago, then it was easier to just keep going. Resting - stopping - if he did that he wouldn't want to get back up again, would want to give up and drift away, wouldn't be able to face the fight. And a fight was coming. A big one. So he stayed at his desk - and waited for the sun.

There was another knock on his door, and then Spike came in. He looked at him. 'Spike - whatever it is - can't it wait?' His voice was heavy - just speaking was more effort than he wanted to put in right now.

'Uh - I don't think it can, big guy. See … I think I've been a bit of an idiot.'

'An idiot? You? … Say it aint so.'

'Yeah - alright - no need to be cute.' He shuffled his feet, awkwardly. 'See - a few months ago now, this guy approached me. Said he was the one who sent you the amulet, and the one who sent that flash bang gizmo in the mail. Made me a real boy again. He said … he did it because the higher powers wanted me to be their champion, in your place. Said he had visions that told me who to save.'

'Did this guy have a name?' Angel was interested now, in spite of himself. He leaned back in his chair and watched Spike carefully. Spike nodded. 'Guy said his name was "Doyle"...'

'_Doyle?' _

'Uhuh - used to be your seer, had decided to back a different horse … so he said.'

'_Doyle?' _

'Yeah - well - you can imagine my surprise tonight, when the elevator doors open and Cordelia flings herself into the arms of a complete stranger. Some guy I had never seen before - but who you all act like is part of the outfit.'

'Doyle.'

'The one and only. The real deal. And a completely different bloke to the one who has been leading me a merry dance all across Los Angeles all bloody year.'

'So …' Angel wrinkled up his brow in thought, 'who the hell have you been talking to?'

* * *

Cordelia and Doyle lay in bed, wrapped up in each other's arms - though neither of them were sleeping. Doyle lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. Cordelia's head was resting on his chest, her fingers were absently tickling his skin and her gaze was blankly focused on the bathroom door. 'So what happens now?' she asked after what seemed like hours of silence.

'I don't know,' he shook his head on his pillow.

'Do you think Fred will be …'

'I dunno,' he sighed, and wrapped his left arm around her even tighter. They had averted complete disaster at least. The intervention of The Powers meant that, rather than burn up in the fires of resurrection, Fred's soul was still safely inside her body - with her memories and hopefully her personality still in there somewhere. But they had not won the day, had not succeeded completely.

It had been too late, by the time they had got Fred to the well - and that was his fault, he reckoned, he should have known sooner - told them what to do the minute he got to Wolfram and Hart. The delay on him remembering what needed to be done had given Illyria time to take deep hold of Fred, bury into every cell - so that the Old One became a part of her, even once it had been expelled.

And now Fred was strange and not herself. She had memories that were not her own - that caused her no end of distress, and sometimes she even lost herself to the will and character of the pure demon. And worse even than that - she shared some of Illyria's power - too much power for Fred's frail human body to handle. Wesley probably knew what he was talking about when he said it would probably consume and kill her. The team could find a way to anchor Fred, bring her back to herself, help her come to terms with who she had been and who she was now … but if they didn't find a way to bind her powers, they would still end up losing her.

He felt Cordelia shift in his arms, and hold onto him tighter with her own. 'I just can't bear to think of them,' she said. 'Fred and Wes - losing each other, when they'd only just … I can't bear it for them.'

'No,' he said softly. 'But - maybe it isn't the end. It hurts now, but maybe something can be salvaged.'

'I hope so.'

He glanced down at her. 'You sound doubtful,' he said.

'It's just … it's the way he looks at her,' Cordelia told her boyfriend. 'The way he talks about her. He called her an 'it.' He levelled his shotgun right at her. He refuses to believe there's any of Fred in there.'

'Well, hopefully, in time, he'll see that he's wrong.'

'But shouldn't he - out of all of us - shouldn't he be the one pushing for finding her, for saving her? Shouldn't he be the one desperately clinging to any hope that she's herself, that everything can go back to normal? But instead … it's like he can't bear the sight of her.'

'I guess he just feels it more deeply than we do. It's understandable.'

'Is it?' She looked up at him, 'do you think that's how it would be for you - if it were me?'

But he only shuddered and held her tighter. 'It's not you. I don't wanna … I can't think about that. And if I can't even bring myself to imagine myself in Wesley's position … then I guess I don't get to second guess what he's thinking, or question the way he's behavin'. He'll do what seems right to him - and get through this anyway he can.'

* * *

Wesley sat in his office and poured himself a scotch. He had had her - for a few brief days, for a too short, too sweet, too glorious shining moment of wonder, he had had her. But nothing that good could last. He ought to have known. And now everything that was Fred was tainted - with the arrogance, the power, the pure, unadulterated vertigo of an Old One. They must all look so tiny to her.

She was no longer one of them - no matter what the others hoped for - that much was obvious to any who could bear to see. He was a watcher. He had been trained since infancy to separate truth from the lies, to look the facts in the face - cold, hard and unflinching - and not hide behind the wishes and hopes and fantasies that were the refuge of weaker men.

Fred could not be Fred with those memories inside of her. She could not be Fred with those powers. No matter how much she might want to go back, and how much the others might fight to make it happen, there was no going back. There was no removing Illyria, even if they could find a way to stabilise her, assuming her own powers didn't kill her, there was too much inside of her for her to just be Fred - and it would always show.

God those eyes.

He could not look into those cold, blue eyes and tell himself the comforting lies that the rest of them were relying on to get by. The truth was - Fred was above them all now … and beneath them. As powerful as a God, she could no longer put her feet up and order Chinese and watch trash T.V with them. She could no longer look at him with love - and see him as her equal, as deserving of her - as worthy.

But her soul was not whole anymore - it was shared with a demon. A Godking of hell. When this world passed away, and they all travelled beyond the veil to whatever came next - a woman bearing the soul of an Old One could not enter the garden. Could not live for eternity in paradise with mankind. She had opened that sarcophagus out of curiosity; woman's original sin. An apple, a crystal - something so shiny, so pretty she couldn't resist it. How fitting that it was this sin that would now banish her from heaven. How fitting that it was this sin that threw Wesley out of the Eden of their love. Woman would always be the downfall of man.

These were the truths - and he was facing them, unflinching, not looking away - the way he had always been trained to do. Whatever was left of Fred was not enough…

...

The door opened - and Lilah walked in. 'I thought I might find you here,' she said. She sat across from him and crossed her long legs. He looked up at her - his eyes filled with pain. 'I heard you were asked to sign the customs forms,' he said.

'I was.'

'And you didn't do it.'

'No.'

'Thank you …' he looked down. 'She signed them - in the end. It was her hand that brought all this about.'

'She couldn't have known - you know that.'

'Perhaps.' he nodded his head slowly. 'And yet, you knew. You knew enough not to sign. She didn't.'

'She hasn't been here as long as me,' Lilah pointed out.

'She was too trusting … always so trusting. You know, I think I hate her a little for that.'

He poured himself another scotch - and then poured a glass for Lilah. And they sat together in the dark, drinking.

* * *

Fred stared at herself in her mirror. This room was her room - it was her home. But it was a prison boxing her in, trapping her inside when she was already trapped within her skin. She gripped her head. It hurt too much, it was too full - and her skin was too hot and her memories were all jumbled. She wanted to find herself - to be herself - but she was lost in the sea of aeons, swimming inside her mind.

She had thought this place could make things better, that she could find herself - with Fred's things - and be Fred again. Pick up her comb, or brush through the clothes in her closet, look at her photos and read her books and they would act as a map, or a guiding light bringing her back home.

But the fog was too dense and the light was too weak. She was stumbling through the darkness of her own thoughts, finding Fred and Illyria in equal measure and sometimes even getting them confused.

There was a stuffed bunny on her bed. She picked it up and held it. This was important - she felt it was important, this was a part of Fred that went back further and deeper than anything else in this room. But search as she could - she could not find the bunny in her memories, it was too long lost - too far gone, just like she was. She clutched it to her chest and began to sob.

* * *

_Fred put the last box into the trunk of her Chevy, it was early evening and the sun was already casting long shadows. It was late to be starting out on a journey - but she had somewhere to get to and couldn't wait until morning. She closed the trunk and ran back to give her mom one final hug before heading back to the car. She waved to her mom and then got into the driver's seat, moving off down the suburban lane - the little houses flashing past, the mountains in the distance. She looked back in her rearview mirror at her mom shrinking away in the distance, keeping an eye on her until she was vanished from sight completely. Then she turned her attention to the open road. Feigenbaum_ _was in the passenger seat - and together they drove off into their future, headed for the city of Angel and whatever adventures might come their way._

* * *

**A/N next episode is 'Underneath' **


	66. Underneath: Part One

**Underneath**

_Part One_

It was late when Harri arrived back at her office, and she was tired. She'd been driving all day - all the way back from Washington State, and she felt stiff and achy all over. But at least she had got another truck load of demons out of town - they should be fine now, and so all her aches and pains were worth it.

She unlocked the door and switched on the lamp on her desk, before checking the mail that had arrived while she was away. Mostly bills. Well, if she had to go over which of these needed paying before she turned in, then she would need coffee. She flipped on the coffee maker and waited for it to heat up, then poured herself a cup and sat behind her desk, flipping through the mail to sort out which needed dealing with first.

There was a knock on the door. She looked up, frowning - it was late for visitors. 'Who is it?' she called. The door opened and a young demon man stepped inside. He had lilac skin and pointed ears, but his hair and eyes were bright pink and he had what looked like tribal markings around the edge of his face.

Harri smiled in welcome when she saw him, 'can I help you?' she asked.

'Yeah … I - I hope so.' He twisted his hands together nervously as he spoke.

'Come on in. Sit down.' She put her letters down and leaned forward as he sat across the desk from her. 'Can I get you some coffee?'

But he shook his head. 'No … thanks … I - uh - I've been hearing that there's word out - among my people - that we're supposed to - uh - get outta town?' His voice rose uncertainly at the end of his sentence, turning it into a question.

Harri nodded, 'hopefully just temporary - but it's a dangerous time to be a demon in L.A right now.'

'Right - and - uh - I heard that you and your husband were organising the evacuation? That you were the people to come to if I wanted help getting out of the city.'

She nodded her head - she was too tired to correct him on her relationship with Francis, right now. Now was not the time to get into that disastrous part of ancient history … and she got the confusion. It wasn't like she'd changed her name back after her divorce. Her own last name was Geogehan: Harriet Geogehan - she'd been glad to get rid of it.

'Do you need some help getting out of town?' she asked, 'I'm sure we can sort something.'

'I've got to get right the way across the country. I'm a Sesquoiatin demon - from Okefenokee - The Florida side.'

'That won't be a problem - though it might take a day or two to organise something. It's late - why don't you leave me your name and number and I'll get back to you as soon as I have something.' She slid a pad and paper across to him and watched as he scribbled down his details. He ripped the top sheet off the pad and handed it across to her, she glanced down at it. 'OK then ... Aamonbael - I'll be in touch.'

He thanked her and left - and she went back to sorting her mail.

* * *

The early morning sun shone through the necrotempered glass - the two vampires were still sequestered inside, trying to work out who the mysterious, false "Doyle" could be. 'And he never gave you a way to contact him, if you needed to?' Angel asked in exasperation.

'Nope - sly bugger.'

'Well he probably knew that even you, brain trust that you are, would figure it out eventually - didn't want a trail that led straight back to him.'

'You know you kinda gotta admire the balls on the guy,' Spike said, putting his feet up on the desk. 'Well, you do,' he defended his statement on seeing the look on Angel's face. 'Gotta admit, the bloke was sailing close to the wind. Pretending to be your faithful sidekick, with said faithful sidekick living here in the city - apparently fighting the good fight the whole time. You, him, Cordelia all moving round in the same orbit - I couldda chanced upon him at any moment. But this fake Doyle holds his nerve - and has me prancing around thinking I've got a destiny for months on end. Soddin' embarrassing is what it is.'

Angel shrugged, 'don't feel too bad, Spike - I already knew you were an idiot.' He folded his arms across his chest. 'So what exactly has he been having you do?'

'You know, the usual stuff: save the girl, find the emerald with the girl, stop the bad guy … had me hunt down the whacked out slayer. Take out that slug that was scramblin' your brains.'

'And if he didn't really have visions … can we assume he had something to do with getting that slug on me in the first place?' He considered this for a moment. 'Lilah was involved in that … I bet she knows who's behind this.'

'So what? We grab her - torture her?'

There was a quiet couple of seconds where Angel was seriously tempted, then he sighed and shook his head. 'We'll keep it as plan B - but we don't want to risk alerting this "Doyle",' he made the air quotes with his fingers, 'that we're onto him. Let's try and figure this out ourselves. Tell me everything he told you.'

Spike leaned his head back against the headrest of his chair and started to count off the various tidbits of information "Doyle" had divulged over the months: He'd dug the amulet out of the hellmouth and sent it to Wolfram and Hart. He'd sent the package in the mail that had recorporealised Spike.

'And that led to a tear in the universe over the whole prophecy thing … did he know about that? Did he send us on the wild goose chase to the desert?'

But Spike shook his head. 'He said he didn't know anything about that.'

'Yeah, but he also said he was Doyle.'

'Well, when you put it that way...'

'I just …' Angel brought his thumb and forefinger up to the bridge of his nose and pinched it, shaking his head. 'I don't see how you could be taken in like this.'

'Hey - I didn't say I trusted the bugger,' the other vampire sounded offended. 'I never did, as it happened. Sure, you're a right git - but if your most loyal ally is stabbing you in the back it does make me think maybe he's a bit two-faced. I was always on my guard. But … he knew a lot about you.'

'He did?'

Spike nodded, 'plus - hadn't I seen him dancing with Cordelia at the Halloween party? How was I supposed to know she was dancing with other blokes?'

Angel's hand came down and his head came up, 'he was at the Halloween party?' he asked, incredulously. Spike nodded again. 'Wait - didn't I say that?'

'_No_. Right - so he's someone that knows about me, knows Cordelia, can pass unnoticed at a Wolfram and Hart party … who is it?'

'Beats me.' He shrugged. 'Whoever he was, he'd done his research on you and Doyle. Didn't try to fake the accent though - thank heavens for small mercies. Had kind of an … urban cowboy vibe. Was full of heartwarming tales about the time you and he were best pals … the way you failed to save the bird on your first time out, the time he watched you cut off some broad's hand…'

'Wait … _what?'_

Spike wrinkled up his forehead as he tried to remember exactly what was said. 'He said … he saw you cut some bint's hand off, in the line of duty. Said she had it coming.'

'I cut off Lilah's hand,' Angel said.

'Really? Doesn't she have - you know - the normal amount of hands?'

He shook his head, distractedly. 'She got a new one. But that's not the point. The point is, I did that because she was trying to burn a scroll I needed - the scroll had the words to a spell we needed to stop Doyle being attacked by his own visions. Doyle wasn't even there at the time - he was strapped to a bed in a hospital, screaming in agony. He didn't see me cut Lilah's hand off.'

'Right then - who did?'

Realisation dawned on Angel's face.

* * *

Lorne sat at the bar, a Seabreeze in his hand - when was there not a Seabreeze in his hand? Well - since that moment on the stairs, the moment when the sun went out and he saw it all before it happened - he had barely stopped drinking. It was too painful to do anything else. Too painful to face the world sober.

Carlos, his old barman from Caritas, was singing for him - his voice badly out of tune. Lorne stared down at the drink, his Seabreezes hadn't improved since Caritas was destroyed in a fireball … they were as bad as the singing. Eventually, the demon stopped his off key warbling and looked at his former boss anxiously. 'She's gonna say no, isn't she?' he asked nervously. 'I knew I should have got a bigger ring.'

'June wedding,' Lorne told him, blankly without looking up. 'But get a tent - there's gonna be rain.'

Carlos' face lit up. 'She's gonna say yes?'

'Aint love grand?'

'I'm gonna get hitched?'

'Yeah.' He held his empty glass out to be refilled. 'More Sea less Breeze.' Carlos topped him up. 'I was wondering about the possibility of a Carlos junior? What do you think?'

'What do I think?' He stared down at the pale peach liquid in his glass and sighed. 'I think I'm tired. I think I'm sick and tired of wearing bells on my toes and making out like everything's gonna be OK. I think it's pathetic that lately I'm too scared and sad to tell people the truth so I just say what they wanna hear instead. Most of all I think the term "Happy Hour" should be banned from the English language. There's nothing happy about this hour or any other.'

'Oh,' Carlos' face fell as he realised maybe he wasn't getting married after all. He began to busy himself, wiping down the bar. But Lorne wasn't finished. 'What I know is that I started drinking the moment I found out that a girl I loved was gonna die. Or…' he shook his head, 'whatever has happened now. I know things aren't right - and they won't ever be again. And I know I bear some of the blame for that: for agreeing to go to that place, for convincing her to join me... and I cope with that shame by drinking. And every time I get to the bottom of the glass, I hope that last drop will take me the distance.'

Carlos was now looking away, busying himself and regretting ever starting the conversation.

'A simple plan that failed utterly. Which is why I'm gonna heave my tuchis off this stool, strap the bells on and, with a smile and quip, go back into the belly of a very ugly beast and pretend like I can help. 'Cause that's what the green guy does.' And he drained his glass, paid the bartender and left.

* * *

Cordelia brushed her hair, tugging the comb through the strands until they shone. But her face was pale and her eyes were sad. 'You know, you don't have to go,' Doyle said to her, coming to stand in the bedroom doorway. He leaned against the door frame and folded his arms across his chest, watching her as she got ready. 'It's not like we need the money. For the first time in our lives we actually have a steady income coming in, courtesy o' the Slayers' Council. You can just call Jenkins and call the whole thing off if you want. He'll understand - bereavement in the family…'

She put her hair brush down and peered into the mirror, examining the dark circles under her eyes. She picked up her concealer and set to work. 'I would - but it's a better gig than anything I've booked so far. Besides - wedding dress modelling? I'm gonna need one of those - and soon. I need ideas. And maybe I can talk someone into letting me have one for cheap.'

'Always got an eye for a bargain.'

'Uhuh - well you have to when you're brought up to have champagne tastes and end up living off beer money.'

'Yeah but …' he went over and put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them comfortingly and making eye contact with her in the mirror. 'Even as brutal and mercenary a nature as yours needs to take time off when somethin' like this happens. Fred is … well, she's not completely Fred anymore - we've all been put through the wringer. You dashed to England and back in less than twelve hours, you got knocked out... I just don't want you overextendin' yourself.'

'I won't,' she promised, done with her concealer she began to work with her eyeshadow - trying to give her tired eyes some lift. 'I'll rest tomorrow. I won't get into a fight for a week, I promise. But I wanna do this. I wanna do something normal after …' she didn't finish her sentence. It didn't need finishing.

'Well, OK,' he shrugged and dropped his hands from her shoulders, 'if you're determined.'

'I am.'

'You always are.' He gave her a fond smile, though it was more than a little sad - and his eyes were worried.

Out in the living area, the phone began to ring. He left her in the bedroom and went to answer it. 'Angel Investigations we help the … oh hey, Harri,' he listened to his ex wife on the other end of the line. 'No, I'm not busy today …' he told her, 'yeah - yeah - I'll come right over.' He hung up and headed back to Cordy.

'Was that Harri?' she asked. Her mouth was open in a round 'o' as she applied her mascara.

'Yeah - says we got a client. One turned up at her office late last night. Needs me to go and help sort him a ticket outta here.'

'Well that's good,' she nodded in satisfaction, 'it isn't good for you to sit around here slacking whilst I'm out. You'd get yourself into way too much mischief.'

'I wouldn't! When was the last time I got myself into mischief?' he protested, wide eyed and innocent.

'Oh please! trouble follows you around like a devoted puppy dog. But if you're working with Harri, she'll be able to keep an eye on you.'

'I'm nearly 30, Cordelia - I don't need a babysitter.' But she just smiled in a knowing sort of way and said nothing.

* * *

'Fred needs a babysitter,' Angel said, pulling his coat on as he readied to go out and speak to Spike's faux Doyle. 'She doesn't know what's what right now - and half the time she isn't even her.'

'Well this is a boatload of manly responsibility to just barrel out of nowhere, what do you want me to do?' Spike asked.

'Just … talk to her, watch her. Keep her calm. Make sure she doesn't freak out or run off.'

'And how am I meant to stop that if she does the time slowy down thing?'

Angel reached into the inner pocket of his duster and pulled out the pink crystal from Illyria's sarcophagus. He threw it at Spike. 'Keep that on you at all times - she won't be able to affect you.'

Spike turned the gem over in his hands, frowning. 'Didn't that Knox guy use this so he could slow everyone down, as well?'

'The exact power of the crystal isn't known,' Angel told him, heading for the door. 'So just keep it on you. Don't play with it, don't do anything stupid. Treat it like a fully armed weapon that you don't know how to handle …'cause that's what it is.'

'Yeah and why isn't Wesley doing this?'

Angel stopped in the doorway, he sighed and looked back at the other vampire. 'Because Wesley is still having trouble adjusting.'

* * *

_Wesley stared straight ahead, contemplating things too dreadful to contemplate. 'You have a visitor,' he heard Fred's sweet voice behind him. 'I thought I was in isolation,' he said to her. She came up behind him and leaned down, kissing his neck. 'Yeah? Whose fault is that?' Then she walked round the chair and knelt down in front of him, looking up into his eyes: 'Tell me a joke.'_

'_Two men walk into a bar,' he said straight away. His voice was still blank, he still stared straight ahead. 'The first man orders a scotch and soda, the second remembers something he'd forgotten - and it doubles him over in pain. He falls to the floor shaking … and then through the floor and into the earth. He looks back up at the first man, but he doesn't call out to him.' He looked down at Fred, then. 'They're not that close,' he told her. _

'_Yeah, you always know where you are.' _

'_It's my particular skill.'_

_She put her hands on his knees, and then up onto his shoulders and crawled into his lap, looking into his eyes the whole time. 'This is only the first layer,' she whispered to him, 'don't you wanna see how deep I go?' _

Wesley jerked awake, his lap was empty - he was alone in his office; the blinds closed and the lights switched off. There was an empty bottle of scotch beside him, his only true and faithful companion - and, wherever she was right now, Fred was not his Fred anymore.

* * *

Fred stood in her own office, up in the lab. She'd been standing there for hours, silently. Staring blankly. Spike shifted uncomfortably, 'she was like this when you found her?' he asked Lorne. The anagogic demon nodded, 'and mercy knows how long she was here before that… Fred, honey?' He tried to address the silent woman, his voice becoming softer as he spoke to her. She ignored him - carried on staring. Lorne glanced at Spike and shrugged.

'Maybe we could just, you know, snap her out of it?' Spike suggested.

'Any ideas how?'

With a shrug of his own, Spike stepped around so he was facing her, seized her upper arms and began to shake her. 'Fred! Fred! Oy, Love - you in there?' he shouted, bending his knees so he could try and gaze into her eyes as he shook her - look for any sign of recognition, any sign of life.

'Spike! Baby - sweetheart - no!' Lorne dragged him off her.

'Look - I've seen catatonias before. Sometimes a bit of tough love is what's needed. You need to be firm when a bird goes all screwy in the head. I should know, I dated Dru for a hundred years, didn't I? And Buffy, Lord love her, was not always the most balanced individual. Sometimes things got too much.'

'Yeah? Well I don't think a tough lovin' platinum hero is what Freddikins needs right now.' He leaned against her desk - and watched her, still as the grave, wondering how best to reach her. '_Who doesn't know what I'm talking about?'_ He began to sing softly, '_Who's never left home? Who's never struck out? To find a dream and a life of their own, a place in the clouds and a foundation of stone…' _

Slowly, Fred turned to look at him. Her blue eyes were still blank - but at least she was moving. He smiled at her encouragingly. '_Many precede and many will follow, a young girl's dreams no longer hollow.' _She took a step towards him, and he held out his hand to her, drawing her up onto the desk beside him. When he sang the next line, she joined in. '_It takes the shape of a place out west, but what it holds for her, she hasn't yet guessed.' _

'Well, hey, there she is,' Lorne smiled, 'it's great to have you back with us.'

She looked nervous, biting her lip. 'Am I… Am I me?'

'Hey, you're always you, pumpkin - otherwise there wouldn't be a you to worry about not being ... you … well that didn't come out right,' he smiled at her, warmly, 'you know what I mean.'

She giggled, high and fluting. 'I guess I do - it's just - in my head… the bird's gone screwy, I guess.'

Spike shifted his feet uncomfortably. 'Hey, look, love - I didn't know you were … I didn't know you could hear us.'

But she shook her head - a ghost of Fred's old smile passing across her face. 'It's fine … it's not like it's the first time I've been crazy.' She laughed again, but her voice cracked and there were tears shining in her eyes.

'I've dealt with girls much crazier than you - and you got nothing to worry about. Well nearly nothing…'

'Right - nothing to worry about. Except I can't tell myself apart from the ancient demon infecting my mind, I can't remember who I am half the time, and the rest of the time I have a bloodlust and violence kick that makes evil Angel look like a fluffy puppy, and I can punch a hole through time and space if I want … or your chest … whatever … nothing to worry about here.'

'Yeah but - the trade off - sure, you're dingy in the melon, cracked in the coconut, well past midnight on the crazy clock - but you're an all powerful uber whatsit. That's gotta be a step up from 'science girl', right?'

Lorne cast him an irritated glance, 'maybe I should do the talking?' he suggested.

'What? I was helping!' But he only received another reproving glance.

'Fred, honey,' Lorne wrapped an arm around her, 'I know everything's strange - crazy - right now and you have a lot to process. But we're here for you - all of us - you know that? And we wanna do whatever it takes to help you get back to yourself. Just tell us what you need.'

'For this to have never happened?' Her bottom lip trembled and she fought to steady it. 'For Wes to even look at me again? To just have something I can hold onto to keep me here.'

Lorne held her tighter. 'Remember when we first met?' he asked her. 'I was just a head in a basket, and you were a runaway slave recently joined up with the dark avenger to fight the priests … We both survived the hell that is my home dimension and then we both came here, found our home and family and built up our lives right where we belong. You and me, kiddo - we've seen things the others can't imagine, we share the same nightmare - and have the same safeplace. And you can always hold onto me - 'cause I'll always hold on back.'

* * *

'_For he himself has said it, and it's greatly to his credit …' _HMS Pinafore was blasting out of Gunn's CD player. He thought he'd nearly memorised all the words to this one … if only the law learning was going quite so smoothly.

'I heard you were looking for me?' Lilah appeared in the doorway. He glanced up at her and then leaned back in his chair, 'yeah - come on in.'

With one eyebrow raised in amusement, she sidled through his office and took a seat opposite him, crossing one, long leg over the other. 'So how can I help you?'

'This merger we've got going on - Wulffman and the ZX Corporation - I've put Hayes on point for it, he'll lead in all the meetings, but I want you in on them as well - could do with an extra pair of eyes and ears … and much as I hate to say it, I know you're the best. And this is too important to the company to have anything other than the best.'

Her smile became wicked. 'But why aren't you leading?' she asked. But he didn't rise to the bait, 'I think you already know. Anyway - I'm the head of the legal department and I'm delegating. Isn't that what managers do?' He shrugged. 'I got more to worry about right now - bigger things - than this merger, no matter how much it will affect our bottom line.'

'Bigger things than that text book you're keeping hidden in your desk drawer?' she asked.

'Much.' He still wasn't rising.

'Like what?'

'Like my family's fallin' apart right now. And I know you got this whole evil, ice queen, lone wolf vibe going on - but even you are worried about Wesley, don't pretend you're not.'

She shrugged, but conceded the point. 'So you're gonna look out for Wes whilst I do your lawyer work for you?'

'That's my plan.'

'That's smart.'

'I was always smart - the upgrade just gave me a shortcut to the law info. But right now Wes needs me. And I need to get through to him. Find a way to get him to open up… I don't know why it's so hard for him.'

'_He remai - ai - ains an Eng - lish man!' _the song finished up. Lilah gave the CD player a sardonic glance. 'And there it is in a nutshell… well, good luck unstiffening that upper lip,' she got to her feet.

'You'll oversee the merger?' He checked. She nodded, 'if you take care of Wesley.'

* * *

Angel pulled his car up into the shade and - making sure to stick to the shadows - rounded the corner and entered the apartment block. He took the elevator up to the floor he wanted; the stairwell had a lot of windows in it, and only Wolfram and Hart was fitted with necrotempered glass.

The bell dinged and he stepped out, padding down the hallway until he reached the number he was looking for. Then he knocked on the door.

Lindsey opened it.

'Hi,' Angel said brightly, his smile affable, 'can I come in?'


	67. Underneath: Part Two

_Part Two_

Doyle sat behind Harri's desk, the telephone cradled between his ear and shoulder as he made notes. 'Uhuh … uhuh … no, that's great - I'll get back to y'... thanks, man. I owe y'.' He put the phone down and looked across at Harri. 'I got a guy driving a delivery truck out to El Paso tonight, says he can smuggle this Aamonbael in the back. And then he reckons he'll be able to twist a local driver's arm to take him further on. Could get him as far as Fort Worth.'

'Pretty good going,' she smiled and handed him a cup of coffee. 'You know - when this is all over you could have a bright career ahead of you as a travel agent.'

He laughed. 'Well - I guess I never thought all those names in my book would come in _this_ useful. But I gotta tell y', right now I'm awfully relieved that I know so many hustlers, grifters and lowlifes. Havin' a network of people all looking for a backhander and not carin' how they make it is provin' to be worth its weight in gold.'

Harri laughed along with him, and sat down in the chair opposite, curling her feet up under her. 'Who knew all those years as a down and out would prove to be such an important step in your forward progression?'

A little wrinkle of thought appeared above the bridge of his nose, as he sipped his coffee and reflected on Harri's words. 'You know - Cordy said somethin' similar once - when this was all just startin'. She said she reckoned everything that had happened to me over the past few years - since my demon side presented really, but definitely ever since that first night with The Scourge - that everythin's happened to me for a reason. To turn me into the exact right person to get this job done. You know, I was born to be The Promised One - that was written into the Lister prophecies 200 years ago - but it's like it's not just a destiny that's gonna happen one day, it's something I've been moulded into, given all the right skills and powers to actually make a difference. She was talkin' about my decoding powers - but I think it's true too that, if I hadn't fallen as I did, hadn't fallen in with the wrong sorts the way I did back when I first became a demon - I wouldn't be able to do all this now. My contacts are what make all this possible.'

'I guess it puts everything into perspective - knowing everything has been for a reason.'

He sighed, blowing out his cheeks thoughtfully. 'Yeah - I guess it does. I mean, I'm not sayin' I wouldn't be happier if I wasn't The Promised One. It's a big responsibility and I _really _don't get why the universe thinks I'm the one that should handle it… but I guess I wouldn't change the way things have turned out.'

'The pain is all worth it in the end,' she said lightly. He nodded. 'Well, that's all anybody can ever hope for - in the end.' He took another sip of his drink and then stood up, carrying his coffee across the room to peruse the map of North America Harri had stuck up there. He reached a finger out and traced the roads to El Paso and then onto Fort Worth.

'That only gets him as far as Texas,' he said, 'not even halfway there.'

'Well, at least he'll be out of the way of The Scourge.'

'Yeah … but we can't just dump him in Texas, we need to try and get him a bit closer to home.'

She came to join him by the map, 'do you know anyone in Texas who can help?'

He twisted his mouth as he briefly considered ringing Fred's parents but … after the past couple of days … they'd ask after Fred and - what could he say? Fred would talk to them when she was ready … if she was still Fred. And he didn't want to have to lie to the Burkles, they didn't deserve that - especially after everything they'd been through, losing her the first time. He rejected the idea. 'I'll find someone,' he said - and headed back for the phone.

* * *

Lindsey shrugged, keeping his face impassive. 'Sure - come on in,' he opened the door wider to allow Angel entrance and then turned and walked further into the apartment. 'I'm afraid I don't have any pig's blood I can offer you. You want a beer? Tea? … I guess I wasn't expecting a vampire house guest at this time of the day.' He walked across to the window and pulled the curtains shut.

'Huh,' Angel closed the door behind him and stepped inside, 'you know that surprises me.' He looked around the room - taking in the cosy furniture, the framed picture of Kate on the coffee table, the sword hanging in a bracket on the wall, and all the law books sitting on the bookshelf.

Lindsey looked confused, but smiled uncertainly. 'Why would that surprise you?'

'Well you know - I'd think you'd be expecting me to drop round any old time, what with us being such close, personal friends for years now, _Doyle_.'

The smile froze on Lindsey's face. 'So the limey figured it out.'

'Even with a skull as thick as his, you must have known Spike would get there one day.'

'Right… right…' He suddenly lunged for the wall, drew down the sword and slashed it at Angel's neck...

* * *

Gunn knocked on Wesley's office door and stuck his head round. It was gloomy inside, the blinds still pulled down, the lights still switched off. He could smell the alcohol in the air. It made him doubt the sense of his plan but … hell if he knew what else to do to get through to old English.

'Hey, can I come in?' he asked. Wesley just stared blankly at the far wall, not even indicating that he heard. 'Wes?'

The Watcher grunted, when he heard his name, his eyes travelled across to where Gunn was still peering round the door - they focused on him. At least he wasn't so far gone he couldn't focus. 'Charles,' he sounded surprised to see him there. Surprised but … not interested. There was still a blankness in both his voice and his stare. 'I wish to be alone.'

'I think maybe you been alone for long enough right now. Did you even go home last night? Or have you been here drinking the whole time?'

'Uh..' he shook his head as if trying to remember. 'Lilah was here…'

'I bet she was. But now she's not - she's got work to do. And I'm here to see to you.'

But that made Wesley laugh; a dark, hollow and mirthless little chuckle that spoke of the emptiness inside of him. 'You're here to watch over me? Is it your plan to cheer me up? Or just to make sure I don't use my letter opener to open a vein?'

'Is that a possibility?' Gunn wrinkled his forehead. But Wesley shook his head, ever so slightly. 'No. The watcher's council trains one to face the facts, stare the truth full in the face and accept nothing less. We don't run away from that which is unpalatable. Not even by running into death.'

'You do seem to be running into an awful lot of scotch though. Numbin' the pain, if not hidin' from it?'

Wesley picked up his glass and contemplated it. 'So I'm a hypocrite … well, I've done worse things in my time than drown my sorrows whilst telling myself I was facing the truth. I've done worse things to you, to Fred … to Angel. And did I ever tell you about the time I kept a slave girl chained up in my closet?'

'Uh - no.'

'Well,' he took a sip of his drink, 'maybe another day, eh? But for now … I really need to be alone.'

But Gunn only shook his head. 'Nuhuh - no can do. You're in pain. I can't just sit by and do nothin' about that.'

That made Wesley laugh again - but it was still entirely without humour. 'So you're going to sit in here and observe my pain? I appreciate the desire to help me, Charles, but there's nothing you can do. No way you can make me feel better…'

'Maybe there's no way_ I_ can make you feel better,' Gunn agreed. He pushed the door open, 'but I brought someone here who can.' As the door swung open, it revealed Connor balanced on Gunn's hip. 'Wesy!' the little boy cried out - his arm outstretched and his little hand scrunching and opening as he reached out for his favourite uncle. 'Thought maybe this little guy could help remind you that - if you just open those blinds - the sun's still shining, the world's still turning - and there's still things left living for. No matter what you think you've lost…'

The appearance of the child had actually caused something in Wesley's expression to shift, a falling away of the blankness and dim light to flicker in his eyes. He reached his arms out and took the little boy into his lap, holding him close. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply as he felt the warmth and the weight of the toddler, and felt Connor's arms clasp round his neck.

Gunn looked round the office, 'though maybe we should all think about relocating, the whisky fumes in here are enough to make a kid Connor's age drunk. And the dark avenger won't be best pleased if I hand over his sozzled son at the end of the day.'

* * *

Lorne and Spike took Fred down into her lab. They had looked at the things in her office, at her Dixie Chicks poster - and Fred had remembered the time she and her mom had gone to see them in concert. Her dad had driven them to the arena they were playing at … but when they came out they hadn't been able to find the Chevy. They'd had to wait until all the cars left - and it was nearly sunrise - before they found the car.

And she remembered the commemorative Star Trek plates that also hung on the wall. She'd got caught up in a bidding war on ebay and, lost in the moment, had bought the job lot of them - even though she didn't really want them. She'd been living clean ever since.

But then she'd found the space - her little office - too small, too claustrophobic. It made her skin tight and her head hurt and she had cried out in pain, and the men had hurried her down into the wider open space of her lab. And now she stood in the middle of it, staring around, and trying to remember who she was - who she had been when she had run this place.

'Right here, do you remember, pet?' Spike led her to a certain spot and stood there with her. 'You were working on your equations to cure me of my fit of the ghosties. You did right well too - invented a whole machine to recorporealise matter. Never been seen before. Proper genius stuff.'

But she only looked at him blankly, her forehead wrinkled a little - as if she couldn't quite place the memory - or didn't quite understand what he was saying. But he was unperturbed. 'Or over here,' he dragged her across the room. 'This is where that Pavayne bloke tried to kill you. Had you gripped right around the neck - was choking the life from you. Remember that?'

'Uh, Spike, bubela?' Lorne interrupted. 'Ixnay on the okechay stories, yeah? Maybe?'

'Well,' the vampire shrugged, 'I don't know what else to tell her about this place. It's a soddin' house of death isn't it?' He looked around it, his eyes raised to the ceiling. 'Not really a place full of family friendly reminiscences.'

Fred was looking around too. She walked over to a bench, stumbling a little as she went. 'I came here to work the case,' she said, running her hands along the surface of the bench. 'When I was sick. I left the medical bay to come here and try and save myself. But I couldn't. I shouldn't have tried. I'm not the hero. I'm the one gets saved - not does the saving. Not even to save myself. But I just thought ...' She closed her eyes. 'This is a house of death.' She repeated Spike's words, her own words to Wesley - back when she had been dying.

She wandered away from the workbench. She stopped by an enormous machine in the corner that was making _whoompa whoompa_ sounds … but she had no idea what it did, and she walked away again. She came to a standstill in the middle of the room. 'This is where my - where the sarcophagus was,' she said, staring down at the now empty space.

The two men exchanged concerned glances, and moved closer to her. But she wasn't really paying them attention - she was just staring fixedly at a place about four feet off the floor - as if seeing the sarcophagus there, in her mind's eye. 'It just called out to me,' she said. 'The crystals were so pretty. I knew I shouldn't but it was whispering. Like the thing inside of it was already inside my head…' she suddenly gripped her head and doubled over in pain. 'And now it's trapped in there - all the time - trapped and it can't get out. And it's showing me things. Making me remember … things that aren't mine. Things I don't wanna remember… I don't wanna remember.' She whimpered and began to cry.

'Freddikins, sweetie,' Lorne said to her softly, reaching out for her, 'I know this is a nightmare…'

'I can see nightmares, in my head.' She interrupted him, still doubled over and holding onto her head - as if trying to contain everything in there, trying to stop everything from exploding outward. 'In Illyria's time, they walked amongst us - stalking the earth. Walking and dancing. Skewering victims in plain sight, laying their fears and worst desires out for all to see. This - just to make Illyria laugh.'

'Well,' Spike tilted his head to the side, 'I'll bet she was just as jolly as a frat boy.'

Fred suddenly went still. Her frame stiffened up and she straightened up slowly. Her head tilted to the side, mirroring Spike - and she fixed him in her frost blue, mantis gaze. 'You seek to amuse yourself at my expense,' she said, 'you dare to laugh at me - _me_.'

'Fred, honey,' Lorne started to say. But she ignored him. 'These clowns presume to speak with me,' she muttered to herself. 'Because I am returned in mortal form they think they can address me as if we are equal.' She began to walk away - the men hurried after her. 'This is a nightmare, trapped within my mind. When once it was as free and real as any of us. I wonder who it angered to merit such a fate…' she stopped, and examined her own hand. 'And I wonder who I angered, to be trapped likewise. Inside the shell of a mortal, in its mind, sharing its memories … and surrounded by halfbreed fools.'

* * *

Angel ducked the sword blow, rolling out of the way - but Lindsey came back at him again, swinging once more. He jumped onto the sofa, just as Angel flipped back to his feet, and used his now superior height to aim another blow at the vampire's neck. Angel jumped back - just avoiding the edge of the blade by millimetres, and then jumped upward, grabbing hold of the light fitting and swinging his legs out towards the lawyer.

He kicked him, and Lindsey collapsed, falling off the couch and landing on the coffee table. It buckled and broke beneath his weight, and he landed on the floor, heavily - Kate's picture falling beside him.

Angel bore down on him, slowly - and he began to scooch backwards - still jabbing the sword out to try and stop the vampire from getting any closer.

'Lindsey …' Angel started to say. Lindsey made another lunge. 'Give it up,' Angel shook his head, 'you know you can't win this.' But Lindsey jabbed at him again with the blade.

This time, Angel caught it and, ignoring the way it sliced into his hand, he yanked it out of the other man's grip. Then, with a fluid and swift motion, he flipped it round and caught it by the hilt - and pointed the tip of the sword right into Lindsey's face.

Lindsey looked down at it, breathing heavily. Then he stared up into Angel's eyes. 'Make it quick,' he said.

But Angel only rolled his eyes in disbelief, 'if I was gonna kill you, it wouldn't be quick.' And he hauled Lindsey up by his collar and threw him back down on the couch. 'Now - you and me are gonna have a little chat and … in case you get any ideas… it's gonna be the kind of chat where I'm holding a sword. Start talking.'

* * *

Harri poured them all coffee and then joined Doyle round the back of her desk, taking a seat beside him. Aamonbael, the pink haired, pink eyed demon they were helping, sat across from them. 'You found a way for me to get out?' he asked. He'd worn a baseball cap on his way over to Harri's office, in order to hide his demonic features, and he now twisted that in his hands, nervously, as he spoke.

Harri nodded. 'Francis has done a great job of organising you an escape route, especially in such a short time.' She smiled at her ex husband fondly, 'I guess there's a reason the universe decided to make him The Promised One - even if he doesn't see it.'

Doyle cleared his throat uncomfortably and shifted in his seat. 'Right - um - yeah - I mean it was nothin'...' he said, his ears turning a bright scarlet under Harri's praise.

'He's just being modest. He's found a way to get you right across to Florida - though it might not always be comfortable and you'll have to take it in stages.'

'Hey!' Aamonbael smiled weakly, 'as long as I'm not here getting murdered by The Scourge I don't care if I'm riding in with the cattle, or in the back of a freezer truck. Anything's gotta be better than being stuck in this city waiting to be murdered by some demon who thinks your life isn't worth a damn, right Doyle?'

'Uh - yeah.' The Irishman frowned, wondering why that last sentence had been directed solely at him. But then he shrugged it off, figuring it was because he was part demon - and therefore a target of The Scourge. More likely to understand Aamonbael's plight than Harri who, as a human, The Scourge had no interest in … yet.

He took a swig of his coffee. 'Anyway, I got someone who can drive you out to El Paso, tonight - and then they'll hook you up with someone who can take you onto Fort Worth. Once you're there you'll need to make your way to a place called Benbrook - I got you a map and some directions off the net. You'll probably have to walk - sorry, but it shouldn't take more than a few hours. There's a guy there - half demon, but passin' - like me, his address is on the directions. He works on the trains. He'll put you on a freight train that's headed all the way through to Jacksonville. It does pass near Lake City though - if you can jump off - save you some time. But if not, I figure once you're back in your home State you can contact your own people - get one of them to come and pick you up.'

'That's…' Aamonbael looked down at all the information he had been given, 'I don't know how to thank you. How much do I owe you?'

'There's no charge,' Harri told him. 'We're not profiting off the plight of demonkind. Francis isn't The Promised One because it's an opportunity for him to make a quick buck.'

'I don't know what to say.'

'Don't say anythin',' Doyle shrugged, 'just make sure you're outside this office at 7 tonight - and get into that delivery vehicle safely. That's all that matters.'

'I just can't believe that you … both of you,' he glanced between the two of them, 'can care so much about the lives of demons. It seems such a radical change…'

'A change from what?' Harri asked, her brow creased a little. But Aamonbael only smiled. 'Forgive me - from the way demons are normally treated by humans. I meant nothing by it.'

'No problems,' Doyle shrugged again. He leaned back in his chair and looked the nervous looking demon over from head to toe. 'What kind o' demon did you say you were again?' he asked.

'Sesquoiatin - from Ofekenokee.'

Doyle nodded. 'Swamps right? Cajun otter?'

Aamonbael smiled as if in disbelief, 'how'd you know?'

'I knew a girl from Ofekenokee once. Sesquoiatin - like you. Same pink hair and eyes. You know she kinda had a crush on me?'

'I don't believe that!' Harri laughed.

But Doyle grinned, 'no - it's true. Though my heart belonged elsewhere.' His smile became sad and he shook his head, 'poor kid,' he muttered - and drank the rest of his coffee in contemplative silence.

* * *

Cordelia was having her photo taken in her fourth dress of the day. So far - no luck in finding one she might want to wheedle her way into getting as a freebie for her own wedding. The first three were all practically the same - she had barely been able to tell them apart: strapless, cut straight across the bust and then falling down in a simple column. They must be in fashion right now - if she'd modelled so many of them, but she didn't think they did anything for her figure - or anybody else's for that matter. It was not a flattering style. Or an interesting one. Why would anybody want a wedding dress that was so boring? Shouldn't it be special? Shouldn't it feel special?

This fourth one was different at least. But it wasn't the dress for her… probably not the dress for her. It was satin all over, so it shone in the bright lights of the studio - and it had long sleeves and fitted bodice and a full skirt. It was princessy to say the least. The kind of dress she would have imagined herself getting married in back when she was in middle school - but not what she wanted now she was a grown woman … well, not really.

Of course, back when she was in middle school she had imagined that she would be marrying a far, far richer man than … _Doyle_. It didn't take much to be a richer man than Doyle, she could have hardly found herself a more penniless husband if she had searched one out on purpose. He was not what fourteen year old Cordelia had envisaged. Though of course, she had never bothered to envisage that she would love her husband as much as she loved Doyle, either. Her ideal husband had not been there to be loved - he had been there to be rich, to provide for her and keep her in the manner to which she had been accustomed since birth.

And to go along with her fabulously wealthy bridegroom, she had always imagined an obscenely huge and over the top wedding. The type where a dress like the princessy one she was wearing right now would not look out of place. One with ice sculptures and live, white doves and someone playing a harp as she walked down the aisle, a seven tier cake covered in shimmering frosting, and hundreds of guests - and at least ten bridesmaids. Because she was so popular and it would be difficult to make the cut of which of her scores of friends, admirers and well wishers got to be part of the bridal party.

How times changed. How what she wanted had changed. There would be no bridesmaids - getting married at the courthouse meant that there wasn't much need for them. But hopefully Harmony would be able to make it - even if it was in the middle of the day. Angel could give her a lift in one of his fancy necrotempered cars - so she didn't have to arrive at Cordy's wedding via sewer tunnel. Though Cordy made a mental note to tell Angel to make the offer. Mr. Grouchy Pants wouldn't think to do it himself.

And all the guys would be there, though Lorne would have to wear a hat and sunglasses. And Fred… would Fred be there? Was Fred still even here? The way she looked at the world, so cold and distant and those eyes… she shuddered involuntarily.

If Cordelia had been going to have a maid of honour, Fred would have been it … Fred was her family, the closest thing she had ever had to a sister - though they were so very different. That had never mattered, they were both on the team - they helped the hopeless - and that bound them closer together than any superficial similarity or interest.

Fred had always been so gentle and so supportive. A little mouse that was really a lion - who never even realised just how ferocious her roar was. She'd come back to this world trembling and crazy and afraid of her own shadow, and Cordy had seen her as someone to protect - someone who needed watching over and helping and nurturing. But then, so quickly, she wasn't like that at all. She was a rock, a tower of strength - and a warrior in her own right. She'd forged her own place in the team, until they couldn't do without her. And she was so crazy smart it was unreal.

But now … now she was blue. And there was too much in her head. Too much that wasn't Fred, and she was struggling to hold on. By the time of the wedding - she might have lost that battle … even a lion couldn't stand against a god. Not when it was in her own head.

'OK stop! stop!' The director in charge of the shoot called everything to a halt. 'Can we try this again - but this time when the model isn't crying?' She looked up at Cordelia, her expression annoyed. 'Brides are supposed to be happy, is it too much trouble to get you to smile?'

Cordelia brought her hand up in surprise - and, sure enough, felt the wetness of her cheeks, where the tears had been streaming, unnoticed, down her face this whole time.

* * *

Aamonbael pulled his coat tightly around him and looked around, scanning the area for any signs of life. His footsteps were quiet and careful. The place seemed deserted - a complex of abandoned warehouses in the meatpacking district, the perfect area to lie low from humans - but he knew they must be around somewhere. They could probably see him, even though he couldn't see them. The thought made him shudder.

He rounded a corner - and found a crossbow pointing him squarely in the face. He stared at the demon holding it, it wore a military uniform and jackboots - and its skin was leathery and diseased; looking like it was peeling off in places - showing raw flesh underneath. 'Halfbreed,' the footsoldier of The Scourge said to him, 'have you come here to die?'

Aamonbael raised his hands in surrender and shook his head. 'I've come here with information,' he told the soldier. 'I've come here because I can deliver The Promised One up to your army … on a platter.'


	68. Underneath: Part Three

_Part Three_

Connor raised one hand and then the next, crawling his way up the steps of the slide - Wesley stood on the ground beside him, his hands raised supporting the little boy as he climbed, ready to catch him if he fell. Once Connor had gained the very top, the watcher went round to the end of the slide and crouched down, his arms out ready to catch him.

'Wesy! Watch! Wesy!' The little boy waved down at him. Wesley waved back. 'Are you ready? 1… 2...3..'

Connor pushed off and came whizzing down the slide, screeching in delight, and landed in Wesley's arms. 'Again again!' and Wesley carried him back round to the steps and they started the whole thing again. Being out of the office, away from the drink - and with Connor, as he enjoyed such simple delights - was blowing away some of the cobwebs, getting him out from inside his own head. Fred would still be there - she was too deep inside of him for him to ever get away - but in this moment, with Connor, he could find some semblance of rest from his inner turmoil, some slight respite for his grief.

Over at the snack vendor's van, Gunn bought two coffees in paper cups. He paid and carried them over to the other two, smiling as he watched Connor hurtle down the slide, yelling his head off the whole way down. Wesley caught him again, at the bottom, and then swung him high up into the air.

'Hey Connor, you wanna play in the sandbox while I talk to your Uncle Wesley?'

'No,' the toddler shook his head, 'slide.'

'Aw come on - sandbox! Lots of fun digging - build a castle. And then afterwards we get you an ice cream? How 'bout it?'

Connor considered it for a moment and then - bribed by the lure of ice cream - he nodded his head. Wesley put him back on his feet and he raced off towards the sandbox, his arms stretched out like airplane wings. Once the little boy was safely ensconced in the sand, and too busy digging to pay them any attention, Gunn handed Wesley his coffee and the two of them went to sit on a nearby bench.

'You want to talk about Fred,' Wesley said - and it wasn't a question.

But Gunn shook his head. 'Naw, man. I could quite happily not talk about Fred until the end of time. I know she's gone through some changes but I'm happy to tell myself it's nothin' to worry about. You, though, you _need_ to talk about Fred. And I'm here to listen, 'cause that's what family's for.'

Wesley stared straight ahead, into the distance - not really seeing the park and the trees around him, not really hearing the shouts of the children or the warnings yelled by their mothers. 'She was the best person I ever knew,' he said softly.

'Wes, she's not _dead_.'

'No - no, I suppose she isn't … after a fashion. Her body lives, her memories remain. But she isn't Fred any more. She can't be. I can see why you, Angel, the others all try to tell yourselves that this can be resolved, that things can go back the way they were … but they can't. Not ever. As a watcher, the first lesson we are taught is to separate truth from illusion. Because in a world of magics, it's the hardest thing to do. The truth is: there is something inside the body that was once Fred's - infecting her, changing her, making it so she can never be what she once was. To pretend otherwise would be a lie … and I won't accept a lie.'

Gunn took a sip of his coffee and shook his head. 'I guess I just don't understand why you're so quick to believe that's the truth. Why you're not fighting for Fred. I mean, I don't know the future - maybe this will all go south. But you don't know the future either, so why you so quick to abandon any hope that things can't go back the way they were?'

Wesley laughed, a scoffing little noise at the back of his throat. 'You think there's hope that we can remove a godking from every cell of Fred's being? That we can siphon it's memories from her mind? Bind its powers so she can just be Fred again?'

'Maybe not … but I do know that things - that people - change all the time. And it's not always a bad thing. Yeah, this was a big change that happened too quickly. But that don't mean that Fred can't be Fred any more, she'll just be a new version of Fred. I was still me once I got my upgrade. Irish found his way back to himself after he got over bein' a demon. Cordy aint changed now she's the slayer...'

'Cordelia was born to be a vampire slayer and Doyle was always a demon, he just didn't know it,' Wesley snapped. 'It's completely different to a foreign body invading Fred's self, giving her powers and memories that are not hers - sometimes even taking control of her completely. And you can't possibly be comparing a legal upgrade to the power of an Old One trapped inside a normal, mortal human?'

But Gunn only shrugged, 'all I know is - at the time I thought it changed me … but the more I see, the more I realise I was the same person all along. And Fred's way smarter than me, she'll figure that out much sooner.'

Wesley closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His hand was trembling and he counted to ten in an attempt to steady it. 'Let me explain this to you,' he said through gritted teeth. 'Illyria was a demon pure, the kind not seen on this earth in aeons - a creature of hell, back when hell was on earth. And they were no small cog in the machine, they were a God, a ruler, the hell was theirs to command. Infinite power and no mercy. And this is the creature that now infects Fred's mind, that whispers in her ears, whose memories and feelings she can access, whose power she now has a hold on. Illyria wants that body for their own, wants to rid themselves of everything that is Fred and be themselves once more - and Fred... _Fred _is going to have to fight to keep it.'

'And I don't get why you aint helpin' her with that.'

'Because if, by some miracle, Fred finds the strength within herself to go toe to toe with a hellgod and subdue it - bend it to her will, find a way to encompass those memories and power into herself - then what is left afterwards will not be the Fred we knew. It will be a hellgod in its own right. Greater than Illyria. Stronger and more powerful … and more terrible. Don't fool yourself, Charles, Fred - as we knew her - is gone forever. And we must face that, because no amount of lying or wishing will bring her back.'

* * *

Aamonbael had been dragged inside one of the warehouses and he now sat talking to the commander of The Scourge squadron. Some of the soldiers stood around them in a circle, crossbows pointing at the pink haired demon. He looked around at them uncomfortably, before turning back to their leader.

'A half breed turning on other halfbreeds,' the commander said, scrutinising him carefully, 'always charming.'

'I'm not a halbreed - I'm all dem-'

'All demons are halfbreeds,' the commander interrupted him. 'Ever since the last of the Old Ones left this reality. Your kind were not here when this world was new, halfbreed. We were. We lived in this world when the continents were joined as one, we were here as the seas rolled in, we were here when hell ruled this earth. And then man took the earth as his own, and your kind is a corruption - an impure mixing of man and demon. But we will have this world back as it was - we will bring our hell to this earth once more.'

'Right,' Aamonbael shifted uncomfortably, 'that's great. But see - the guy I'm offering to you, he's a real halfbreed. Actual mixed parentage - one human, one demon.' The soldiers in the circle surrounding him made noises of disgust. 'Yeah - I agree,' the pink haired demon nodded. 'He's nothing, less than nothing.'

'A perversion,' the commander growled.

'If that's how you wanna put it,' he nodded his head. 'But - see - here's the thing. Mr. Perversion is also some big kahuna with The Powers that Be. Works for 'em, does their bidding, brings their will to the world… and he's the one been getting in your way recently. He's the one that's been getting the word around the demon world about you guys being back - he's the one getting them to safety.'

The commander frowned, and leaned forward - leering over the other demon, making him feel small. 'And you say he is The so-called Promised One?'

Aamonbael nodded. The commander began to pace up and down, inside the confines of the circle. 'There are many prophecies about one such creature,' he said, almost as if to himself. He turned - and looked back at his informant. 'Mention appears of him in many holy demonic texts, one who will stop the spread of darkness - and make the earth safe for the halfbreed, bring balance where it is needed.' He laughed, a dark, mirthless chuckle. 'Of course the halfbreed is so small, so insignificant, so lowly in their thinking that each kind who records The Promised One believes he is a prophesied messiah for their kind alone. But I fear that is not so. I fear it is one being - Promised to them all … and you say you can give him to me?'

Aamonbael swallowed hard, sweating under the gaze of so many soldiers who wanted him dead. But he nodded. 'I know who he is. And I know where he'll be. He's meeting with me tonight - I can deliver him to you.'

'And what is it you want from us in return?' the commander asked him. 'Money?'

But the pink haired demon shook his head. 'I just want you to kill the bastard - that's what he deserves.'

The commander towered over him again, he put his arms behind his back and leaned down so they were face to face. Aamonbael tried not to flinch away from its rotting flesh. 'If we kill him, darkness will spread across this earth for halfbreeds,' the commander told him. 'Is that really what you wish for?'

Aamonbael looked him dead in the eye. 'It's what he deserves,' he repeated.

* * *

Cordelia slid the spaghetti straps of her next dress up her shoulders. 'So what's the plan?' she asked. She was alone in her dressing room - and Doyle was on the speaker phone.

'This guy's gonna meet us tonight - at 7,' his voice came down the line. 'We got a driver - delivery guy, driving oranges down to El Paso. He'll give our demon guy a ride down there and then hook him up with another driver headed to Fort Worth.'

'That's good,' she grimaced as she twisted around, trying to do up the zipper at the back. Shouldn't she have someone helping her get into these things? This is what you got for working such cheap gigs. She bet the models who walked the catwalk, for the designers, in these gowns, up in New York didn't have to get dressed by themselves. But model for a small boutique in Pasadena … and you ended up getting changed in a glorified broom cupboard and were rewarded 50 bucks and an apple for your troubles. This was gonna be the last time she did this. She nodded to herself. She'd tell Jenkins later tonight. They weren't desperate for the money any more - the Slayer's Council had seen to that. As of later today, her modelling career would be over.

She gave the zipper another tug and felt it fall into place, and then began to arrange the swathes of chiffon so they fell correctly around her.

'Yeah,' Doyle was saying, down the phone. 'The delivery driver is gonna pick our guy up outside Harri's office, we told him to be there about half an hour early and to make sure he had everythin' he wanted to take with him. We got no idea how long this evacuation is gonna last for.'

'That's smart,' she finished up getting her dress to lay right and turned round to look in the mirror, 'you don't wanna wind up at the other end of the country without your …' She trailed off and stared at herself.

'Without your what? … Cordy? … Uh Cordy? Hello? You still there?'

Her head twisted away from the mirror, her face flushed and flustered, 'oh - yeah - sorry - I … uh … I gotta go.' She reached out and ended the call.

Back in Harri's office, Doyle heard the line go dead. He took the phone away from his ear and stared at it in surprise, 'well, that was weird,' he said.

In her dressing room, Cordelia was back in front of the mirror. She ran her fingers down the floaty material, and then pulled at the skirt to watch the way it swished around her. Then she let it fall, noting the way it dropped perfectly back into place, the ruffles still holding in place like a shimmering cascade of water. She looked back into the mirror to check it still looked the same, then twisted so she could see it from the back, and then turned back to the front - running her hands across it once again, skimming her index fingers along the sweetheart neckline. Her face was just as flushed as before, but there was a smile there now too... She had just found her wedding dress.

* * *

The seconds of silence lengthened, as Lindsey stared up at Angel. The vampire began to pace up and down. 'You know,' he said at last. 'I'm having trouble here - I really am, you're gonna have to help me out. _What has all this been in aid of?_ Did you send that amulet to Wolfram and Hart?'

'Guess I did.'

'Huh - and you intended for …'

'You to wear it, be killed in the final battle and spend the rest of eternity trapped inside the hellmouth - no one ever knowing what became of you.' He shrugged. 'Best laid plans.'

'Because Spike wore it instead.'

'That's the long and short of it, yeah - but it got me thinking,' he leaned back against the cushions and smirked up at Angel. 'The one and only slayer herself, your true love, cast you aside in favour of another champion. Another vampire with a soul no less. And here you are going to work with Wolfram and Hart … well, I figure the PTB might be needing a new vampire hero in town. And if you're playing for the other team, well then that makes the whole Shanshu Prophecy even murkier, doesn't it?' His smirk grew wider. 'Two vampires with souls fighting for the same destiny.'

'So you brought Spike back - then recorporealised him. Which caused a tear in the entire fabric of reality by the way,' he pointed the sword accusingly. 'And then sent us off on that wild goose chase to drink from the shiny cup of Mountain Dew.'

'I heard it was Spike that did the drinking.'

'That's not important, the cup was a fake.' But he said it too quickly. And Lindsey only smirked. Angel tutted and resumed his pacing. 'And then - what? You start filling Spike's head with ideas of destiny, put that brain scrambling slug on me - only to have Spike rescue me … what's the plan?'

'To build him up and tear you down. What do you think? You'd already tossed in your lot with The Senior Partners, your deal with the devil was grinding you down … and having Spike on hand playing hero was just the frosting on the cake. Making you watch that limey, eurotrash vampire take everything you'd worked for - get your destiny, get your girl - whilst you lost your soul to the man. Despair. Pure and sweet.'

'But why?'

Lindsey didn't answer. But his eyes gave him away. Without meaning to, he glanced down at the floor - to the smashed coffee table, where Kate's photo still lay amongst the splinters. Angel followed his gaze. 'Kate,' he said softly.

The lawyer's head snapped up - and his expression was angry now. 'You _do not _get to say her name.'

'That's what all this has been about. All along.'

'You took her from me. You stole our life together - our future, everything we shouldda had. And I swore, as I watched over her to make sure she didn't rise, didn't become like you, that I was gonna take from you right back. Steal your future just the same. So I pretended to be Doyle, to make Spike trust me - to make him think you were being passed over, and he was the real deal now and then I sat back to watch you get yours. What you deserve.'

Angel hung his head low, shaking it. 'I'm sorry.'

'Oh - that makes it all better then,' he suddenly leapt up from the sofa and grabbed a splinter of broken wood, launching himself at Angel's chest. But Angel raised the sword and knocked the makeshift stake from his hand before forcing him back down onto the sofa. 'I'm sorry,' he said again, this time with the sword pointing directly in Lindsey's face. 'I'm sorry about what happened to Kate - but I didn't kill her.'

'You wanna tell me Angelus did? You wanna tell me there's a difference?' Lindsey yelled.

'I didn't kill Kate,' Angel said again, keeping his voice even - but his sword still ready, 'and neither did Angelus. She was dead when I found her. I fed off her … I can't tell you how sorry I am for that. I can't tell you how much I wish … but I didn't kill her.'

But Lindsey was shaking his head in disbelief, 'her neck…'

'She was stabbed - with a knife, twice. To make it look like a vampire kill. But I didn't do that - Kali did … or at least, the evil thing inside of her that was controlling her did it. Think about it. She was cold - when you got to her - wasn't she? That's because she was already dead before Angelus started feeding.'

'No,' Lindsey had buried his face in his hands, his shoulders were trembling and Angel suspected he was crying. 'You remember,' the vampire said, 'of course you do - you'll remember that until the day you die. She was already dead. I hate the way things turned out, if I could take anything back … but the demon who killed Kate is long since gone. And you're looking for vengeance in the wrong place.'

* * *

Fred was still staring down at her hands, as if she had never seen them before. 'Fred, honey?' Lorne said to her, approaching her cautiously, but Spike flung out his arm to stop him and shook his head. 'Careful, green jeans, I think it's the evil twin driving right now.'

'I'm trapped in this carcass,' Fred's voice said - it was deep and bitter, and it didn't sound like she was paying any attention to the two men. 'A prisoner in the skin of a mortal. Sharing its mind, its feelings. There can be no fate more cruel than to be trapped. Polluted and trapped within one's own pollution. This world is too small.'

'Yeah, there's a whole song to that effect,' Spike told her, 'with the … singing dolls and the … boat ride and … when you say this world is too small do you mean it used to be bigger?'

Her head snapped up and she stared at him, tilting her head in that insect like way. 'This world was never enough to hold Illyria. In my time I walked between the worlds, all of them. I travelled them all as I pleased. I walked worlds of smoke and half truths, intangible.' She turned her back on them. 'Worlds of torment and of unnameable beauty. Opaline towers as high as small moons. Glaciers that rippled with insensate lust. And one world with nothing but shrimp … I tired of that one quickly.'

'Uhuh,' Lorne said, nodding his head, the two men were casting worried glances at each other. 'You gotta look out for them shrimp worlds. Listen, sweetie...'

She turned back to face him, her expression incensed. 'I should leave this place. Leave behind this mewling world of humans, where halfbreeds are to speak to me as their equal. This world is a most grievous disappointment.'

'So why don't you go - your highness?' Spike asked.

The furious look on Fred's face intensified, and then crumpled. She turned away from them once more. 'I fear in any other dimension, in this form, I'd be but prey to those I knew … I reek of humanity.'

'I get a whiff of it every time Fred resurfaces,' Spike shrugged. 'But right now … don't flatter yourself, love.'

'All I am is what I am. I lived seven lives at once. I was the power and ecstasy of death. I was god to a god.' She looked down at herself. 'And now I am trapped. In this frail body. In this one room. Just one room … in this time and this place, with two half breed clowns who presume to speak straight to my face … you don't worship me at all, do you?'

'We love you, sweetie,' Lorne said to her. 'That's what makes this old world go round, that's what makes this life worth living. It's why we're here to help you.'

'You think you can help me. Me - who could make the heavens thunder and the tide roll back. A half breed help me…' she looked down at her hand. 'And yet this shell is so very fragile…' she stumbled backwards. 'It's too small, it's too small,' she began to claw at her skin. 'I can't breathe. I can't live within these walls. I can't breathe. There's no room for anything real.'

'It's all right, love,' Spike said to her. She glared at him. 'I should gut you where you stand. You challenged me. There's not enough space to open my jaws, my face is not my face - I don't know what it will say.' She staggered back, breathing heavily, her eyes became wild and desperate. 'Lorne, please!' she cried out - and her voice was higher, and beginning to tremble.

The two men glanced at each other. 'It's OK, peach pie,' Lorne said to her, soothingly. 'Come with us, let's get you out of here.'

* * *

Lindsey had dried his eyes. 'So - I've been looking for vengeance these past few months... Came damn close to gettin' it too. Are you now here for your pound of flesh?'

'I don't want flesh, Lindsey,' Angel said, still pointing the sword at him. 'I understand why you did what you did. But it stops now - no more payback, no more schemes. And when the apocalypse comes, you're gonna let the bones fall as they may. And may the best vampire win … which is me, obviously.'

But Lindsey was smirking again. 'You know for a man of your advanced years, you can be so naive Angel.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'It means the apocalypse isn't coming - it's here.'

'Is this some kind of … metaphor or…?' He shook his head, not understanding. Lindsey looked at him, pityingly. 'Look around. The world's a cesspool filled with selfish and greedy beasts. We live. We die. Even those that don't deserve it. Those before their time,' his eyes trailed back to Kate's photo.

But Angel only snorted impatiently. 'Yeah - hell's on earth. Holland Manners tried to sell me that line three years ago.'

'Was that before or after you killed him?'

'After.'

That made the lawyer laugh. 'And did you ever prove him wrong? He was speaking the truth. It's a truth I've known since back when I worked there. Hell, ask Lilah - she'll tell you the same. It's here. Been here all along - underneath. Except you're too damn stupid to see it. The apocalypse man, you're soaking in it.'

Angel shook his head. He hadn't bought it from Holland and he wasn't buying it from Lindsey. This was just standard Wolfram and Hart tear-the-hero-down talk. 'I've seen an apocalypse or two in my time. I think I'd know if one was right under my nose.'

But Lindsey only shook his head and laughed. 'Not _an_ apocalypse. _The_ apocalypse. What'd you think? A gong was gonna sound? Time to jump on your white horses and fight the big fight? The starting pistol went off long ago, Angel, and you're playing for the bad guys. Every day you sit behind your desk and you learn a little more how to accept the world the way it is. Well, here's the rub … heroes don't do that. Heroes don't accept the world the way it is. They fight it.'

Angel sank down onto the arm of the armchairs, across from Lindsey, his brow furrowed as he thought. 'You say everything we do … it's a distraction, to keep us busy, to stop us from looking under the surface.' What had happened to Fred … Doyle - the real Doyle - had said it might only be meant as a distraction…

'Ding, we have a winner,' Lindsey nodded. 'The world keeps sliding towards entropy and degradation - and what do you do? You sit in your big chair and you sign your cheques, just like The Senior Partners planned. The war's here, Angel - and you're lining up for the wrong side.'

* * *

The door to Harri's office swung open and Aamonbael walked in. Harri glanced at the clock, 'hey, you're early,' she said to him. He glanced down at his own watch, 'well - I didn't wanna miss...'

Doyle chuckled, he was sitting behind the desk with his feet up - looking like he belonged there. 'You don't have to worry, bud, our driver isn't gonna leave without y'. This is a well oiled machine.' He frowned as he noticed the surface of his coffee start to ripple, as if some force he couldn't himself feel was making it vibrate. But he shrugged it off, hoping it wasn't an early sign of an earthquake. They never brought good news.

'You didn't bring any bags with you,' Harri said, looking around in case there were some suitcases stashed in a corner which she had missed. 'Remember, we said to bring anything you were gonna want with you?'

'I don't need anything with me,' Aamonbael shrugged.

Doyle watched as the tin of pencils on Harri's desk began to rattle. His frown deepened.

'But you don't know how long you're gonna be out of town,' Harri was saying. 'Look, there's plenty of time for you to pop home and pick up some things before your driver gets here.'

'Oh, I'm not going with that driver. I'm not leaving town.'

'But -'

'Thanks for all the effort you went to, but on second thoughts I decided to stay here … enjoy the show.'

'I don't understand… Francis?' she turned to her ex husband to see if he was making any sense of this.

But Doyle was barely listening. Instead he was watching the stationary rattle and shake, his coffee seemed to dance in his cup and he wondered what the hell was … and then it clicked into place. 'What did you do?' he asked, looking up at Aamonbael, feeling sick with dread.

The pink haired demon smiled. 'They're coming.'

'Now? Here?' But he knew it was true. It was no earthquake rattling those pencils. It was the shaking of the ground brought on by the thumping footfalls of jackboots running in step.

'What?' Harri looked between the two of them, still not getting it. 'Francis? What's going on?'

'It's The Scourge, Harri,' he told her heavily. 'They're comin' here, they're on their way - he led them straight to us.'


	69. Underneath: Part Four

_Part Four_

Harri stared at him in horror, 'they're … can we get out?' But Doyle looked at the way everything on the desk was trembling, even the glass in the windows was shaking. He shook his head. 'Not out the front, they'll see us. Is there another way out?' But it was Harri's turn to shake her head. She raised her hands to her face, her nails digging into her cheeks in alarm. 'Oh god.'

'We can't escape - we're gonna have to stay and fight. Hope they don't send their entire army for us.'

'Oh I think they'll have sent enough to get the job done. A half breed and his human wife.' Aamonbael laughed, 'the not so promised one is not gonna walk away from this.'

Doyle just stared at him, his eyes hard and cold. 'Why?' he demanded.

'You don't know? You can't guess?' The demon stared back at him with so much contempt and loathing. 'Wow - you really don't look back at the damage you do, do you? Really think that what you do doesn't matter, no matter what broken lives you leave behind in your wake. I guess that's the privilege of The Promised One, the King of Pylea, the man with the pure sight, the man who killed himself a higher power. He doesn't have to look back, doesn't have to see the little people. Doesn't have to see their suffering, even when he caused it. Regret is for lesser mortals right?'

'_What?'_

Aamonbael inhaled sharply, his eyes flashed with anger in the face of Doyle's confusion. 'My sister,' he said, he pointed an accusatory finger at the Irishman. 'My sister is as good as dead, rotting in a coma - that she'll never wake up from - because of what _you_ did to her.' He jabbed his finger in Doyle's face, and hissed the last part through gritted teeth. There were tears in his eyes. 'You killed her - or as good as. Used her and dumped her, haven't given her a second thought since she slipped into a coma bearing _your_ child.'

And Doyle realised. 'Kali,' he said softly.

'You _do not_ get to say her name,' her brother yelled, and then he laughed a dark and mocking laugh. 'I'm surprised you even remember it. Because she was just a demon right? You screwed her and then you tossed her aside and got on with your life. Even killed the kid she gave her life for, so I heard. Well, you wouldn't want your demon bastard in tow when you went back to your human whore wife ... and sent one of your lackeys to return what was left of Kali to her family. And now here you are pretending like you give a damn, like demon lives matter. Rescuing them all from The Scourge, getting them out of town, getting their praise and their admiration for what you do for them. But none of them know what you did to one of their own just last year. But I do. You think I'm gonna let you be the hero for all demonkind, The Promised One, after what you did to my sister?' He looked at Harri then, 'did he even tell you about her, huh? Did he tell you he'd cheated on you with a demon girl? Did he tell you he got her pregnant? Or did he just keep it his little secret? No need to upset his human family with his sordid demon misdemeanours.'

Harri was looking between the two men, torn between confusion and terror. 'Francis, what…?'

Doyle kept his eyes on the pink haired demon, not breaking contact for even a moment. 'I'm sorry about what happened to Kali,' he said, though his voice was hard. 'And if there was time, I would get into it with you - tell you all about what happened. You would have deserved that. But we can't do that - you called The Scourge on us, there isn't time. Now, when The Scourge get here, they _will_ kill you too. Are you gonna help us fight?'

'I came here to watch them kill you, I'm not gonna help you,' Aamonbael said, as if Doyle were crazy. Doyle shrugged, 'then I don't have time for anythin' else, sorry, this isn't what I wanted.' And he launched himself at the demon, catching him off guard, punching him so he stumbled backwards and then shoved him through the open door of the office, out into the street. Then he slammed the door closed and locked it, so only he and Harri were left inside.

'What are we gonna do?' Harri asked, 'they're gonna be here…'

'Are you sure there's no other way in or out?'

She shook her head, 'only the skylight, but it doesn't open.'

'Right - help me.' He began to drag Harri's desk across the doorway forming a barricade. Together they moved all the office furniture, the chairs and the filing cabinets, and used them to block the entrance and the windows. Then Doyle pulled out his phone and hit speed dial for Cordelia's number. She didn't pick up. 'Cordy - The Scourge is comin'. I'm trapped at Harri's office. Get here. NOW' he barked into the answer machine.

He looked at Harri, 'stand back,' he told her, 'away from the windows.'

'Francis … what was he talking about?'

Doyle shook his head. 'It's a long story. And I'm sorry you got caught up in it. He only came after you 'cause he thinks we're still married. This is … when I went through my change this is exactly the kind o' stuff I wanted to protect you from. Why I pushed you away, 'cause this is my life now - and it's not fair for a normal person to have to get caught in the crossfire.' He looked around for a weapon, and pulled the leg off one of the chairs in the barricade, handing it across to his ex wife. 'Here - don't be afraid to use it.'

The door began to shudder, the windows to reverberate in their frames, as The Scourge arrived in the street and began to batter their way inside. Harri looked down at the broken stick in her hand, her only means to defend herself against the monsters outside, knocking to come in. 'do you think we can survive this?' she asked, trying to ignore the frantic beating of her heart and the way her fear was making it difficult for her to keep standing.

Doyle shook his head. 'I don't know,' and he morphed into his spikes, ready to go down fighting.

* * *

'Is that everything you know?' Angel asked. He had sat resting on the arm of the chair for ages now as Lindsey told him about the apocalypse. Not the coming apocalypse, not the gathering storm, but the one that was already here. Right underneath his nose. Lindsey nodded. 'That's everything any guy with his ear to the ground and any knowledge of The Senior Partners could have picked up by himself … shame you didn't manage it.'

'But you haven't worked for Wolfram and Hart in years,' Angel pointed out, ignoring the jibe at his expense. 'Your knowledge could be … out of date.'

But that only made Lindsey smirk, he breathed a laugh - a short, amused snort through his nose. 'You think the eternal, ineffable plan goes outta date? Angel - we just get closer to the end time. Since I quit the firm, the only thing that's changed is how far away the finishing line is.'

'And you're saying we're about to break through the ribbon?'

He nodded, 'everything I see around me, all the signs point to it - the higher powers are done with balancing the scales, they're moving in on the checkmate … and where we'll all be, where those hopeless you like to help will stand when it's done, well that's gonna depend on which side has got the best champions.'

'And I'm at Wolfram and Hart.'

'And you're at Wolfram and Hart.'

Angel thought about this. Everything Lindsey was saying tallied with what Doyle had been telling him. Even down to the attacks on his own people … what had happened to Fred.

He felt a sudden pang of guilt. They were all just pawns in the chess game, they were all just being moved around the board by omniscient beings looking to serve their own ends - and Angel was being pulled at by both sides, a game of higher plane tug of war over the role he was to play in all this.

Doyle said the PTB still wanted him, Angel, for their own side … but he also said that The Senior Partners were not going to let him go without a fight - hence the moves they had made against his family. Against Fred. And Doyle had told him that he needed to get a move on, with whatever his plan was, needed to find a way to do what the PTB asked of him, without alerting The Senior Partners to the danger. Angel had made the decision not to let his family in on this, yet, they were already in danger enough as it was … but that didn't mean he had to do everything alone.

He fixed his stare onto Lindsey. 'OK Lindsey, here's the deal. Since you tried to kill me with that amulet and inflicted _Spike_ on me when it didn't work … _and_ I have very generously not killed you in return, you are gonna help me out. You and I, Lindsey, are gonna work on a little project together.'

Lindsey leaned forward, his brow furrowed. 'What do you want me to do?'

* * *

Fred stood up on the rooftop of Wolfram and Hart and took great, gasping lungfuls of air. 'This is better,' she said, nodding her head - though her expression was still pained. 'I'm me again,' she took another deep inhalation, 'I think I'm me again … I guess the walls don't press in so tight when you can't see 'em. Things aren't so tight. I'm not as trapped.' She ran her fingers through the blue of her hair and gripped her head, nodding once again. 'I think I'm me again.'

'Well, welcome back, pet,' Spike said to her, watching her closely. 'It's good to have you around again.'

Lorne was also watching her closely, his face a portrait of concern and love. 'Are you feeling OK, Freddles?' he asked her. 'Are things quieter now?'

'I…' she closed her eyes tightly, her expression became pinched - as if she were concentrating on something painful. 'I can feel her, I can always feel her. She wants this body, she wants me gone …' she opened her eyes again. 'But I'm not gonna let her have it. Not without a fight, she isn't gonna take me.'

'We won't let her take you,' the green demon promised her gently, 'we'll always be here to lead you back.'

Fred's lip trembled, but she managed a watery smile, letting her hands fall from her head. 'I got real life heroes on my side, fighting my corner - every step of the way. I know I shouldn't be scared. I know I should be brave...'

Spike folded his arms and tilted his head, his expression was one of unusual compassion - unusual for him anyway, but then Fred was one of the very few humans he had ever cared about his whole unlife. One of the few humans who had always treated him decently. 'If there's one thing I've found out in my incredibly long - and unusually good looking - life, pet, it's that you can't be brave unless you're scared,' he told her. 'Bravery can't exist without fear, unless there's something so terrible you can't look it in the face - but you look at it anyway. From where I'm standing, love, there's only one hero here … and I'm looking at her.'

The tears shimmered in Fred's eyes and threatened to fall. 'But what if I'm not enough? How can I be enough? I'm only Fred…'

Lorne took hold of her hand and squeezed it. 'I've seen "only Fred" walk through more fire than any other person I know - and she always comes out the other side without so much as a scorch mark on her … so, maybe you got a little singed this time - but that's all it is. And if an Old One thinks it can set up shop inside _Winifred Burkle _without facing one hell of a smackdown … then, baby, it picked a fight with the wrong physicist.'

She smiled at his words, though it was still weak and watery. She sighed and looked up at the stars. 'They've moved,' she said.

Spike followed her gaze, 'the stars?'

She nodded. 'They do that. They die, or new stars are born, the heavens are always changing. But they're so far away … it takes billions of years for their light to reach us. Right now we're looking at stars that died back when Illyria was alive - but their light has only just reached us so we see them. Echoes of a long dead past. One day they'll just wink out of existence - for us - most people won't even notice there's one less star in their sky … but really it hasn't been there for aeons.'

'Huh - I didn't know that. Never was much one for astronomy.'

'Back in Illyria's day - the stars were different. Newer. I can see what they looked like back then, I remember. Different constellations, making different patterns in the sky. Shining jewels in the inky black. The humans back then didn't know what they were, would watch in fear as they fell from the skies. Shooting stars could lead to wars and bloodshed, just from fear of what was out there. Illyria loved it. Loved the way petty superstitions would make men and demons slaughter each other for centuries on end… who'd ever think that one day we'd go out there, into the black? You know some of those stars aren't even real stars - they're satellites? That we put there.'

'Cavemen become astronauts,' Lorne said to her, softly, squeezing her hand once more. 'They always do. And that's how I know you'll win this. You're the future, pumpkin, and Illyria is nothing but the echo of a long dead past.'

* * *

The door had buckled, scabrous hands reached round to tear it from its hinges. Doyle broke himself off another chair leg and used it as a cudgel, battering away at the fingers that came creeping through, swinging stinging blows at exposed knuckles, until the hands were pulled back, retreating out of reach.

Harri screamed, flinching a little, as the windows smashed - and more Scourge demons began to fight their way through that way. But she clutched her makeshift weapon all the tighter and ran towards them, yelling, swinging the chair leg with all her might and smacking one right in the leathery head. It fell back - but there were another two where that had come from. 'There's too many,' she cried out, swinging her chair leg like a baseball bat again and again and again.

'We just gotta hold 'em back,' Doyle yelled across at her, he smacked another soldier in the head, 'just gotta keep 'em at bay until…'

'Until what?' she yelled back.

But he didn't answer, instead only grunting with exertion and clubbing away at yet more swarming demons, repeatedly battering at any part of them that became visible in a desperate attempt to keep them on the other side of their barricade.

It wasn't going to be enough though, he knew it. The Scourge were too many, too strong and too powerful, and they were only a human woman and one small half demon, who had the pure sight and crazy puzzle solving skills - but not much in the way of super strength. And all they had to arm themselves were two chair legs. There was only one way this was going to end…

Sure enough, whilst he and Harri were battering away at the demons by the windows, swinging their chair legs until their arms ached and their muscles screamed but not giving up because their lives depended on fighting through the pain, one of The Scourge managed to breach the barricade by the door. And once it was inside, the others fell back and followed it through the path it had cleared, pouring inside the small office space until there was no more room.

Doyle pushed Harri behind him to try and protect her. He was breathing heavily and his arms were trembling with exhaustion, but he backed up - until Harri was against the wall and he was shielding her - and then he swung his chair leg at the nearest soldier.

But his makeshift weapon was torn from his hands - and then a fist was buried into his face, it felt like it was made of iron. He stumbled back. Harri screamed. And before he could straighten up, another blow rained down from the other side. And then another, and then another. He was surrounded - at least ten of them. They were just using fists and feet for now - enjoying the thrill of hand to hand, sticking the boot in to The Promised One, watching him bleed. But it was only a matter of time before …

One of the soldiers suddenly drew a blade, it shone in the darkness - the electric lights of the office glistening and dancing on the metal … and Doyle knew this was it. The coup de grace. The killing blow. Here it was. He stared at the blade - the moment seemed to last for a thousand years, this final moment before death - and he refused to look away, refused to show any fear - and bundled Harri even further behind him. He felt his spikes retract, without even meaning to … his body determined to die as a man. And then the thousand years were over, and the blade began to fall.

But then, overhead, came the sound of smashing glass. The blade was retracted, as crystalline fragments suddenly rained to earth, showering down on them all - the skylight crashing down on them … and then Cordy landed in the middle of the room. Her sword whipped out and then the head of the soldier was bouncing along the floor, his own sword still clutched in his lifeless hand. But she had already moved onto the next one. She moved through them all like a whirlwind, chopping and stabbing and punching. She grabbed one by the collar and threw him across the room where he landed against the desk with a heavy thud, then she kicked another one right on top of him.

A few of them fell back. Some of them were already dead … but there were still a handful ready to regroup, ready to grind the slayer, the half breed and the human into a sticky paste, now they had got over the shock of Cordelia's arrival. She elbowed one in the face, and managed to break through to Doyle and Harri, kicking another and dodging a blow as she got to them. 'There's too many,' she panted, grabbing hold of Doyle and pulling him along with her, 'we need to get out - spikes.'

He nodded and did as he was told, morphing back into his demon face. She gave him a small push. He staggered and then came to a stop. 'Now jump,' she told him. He looked up. He was directly beneath the now smashed in sky light. Cordelia was kicking another soldier out of the way, and stabbed another. 'Now!' she cried.

He took a breath, bent his knees and then jumped as high as his brachen half would allow him. He didn't quite make it all the way out. But he was able to catch hold of the edge of the window and pull his way up and out onto the roof, ignoring the way the shards of shattered glass, which still decorated the rim of the skylight, cut into his palms, his wrists and then his torso. Grunting in pain, he managed to pull himself through the window, and slither on his stomach onto the roof. Then he got back to his feet and peered back through the hole, watching as Cordelia did a roundhouse kick and flung another soldier right through the door and back out onto the street.

She caught sight of him up there, 'now get ready to catch,' she called up at him.

'Catch what?'

But then Harri was suddenly flung up through the skylight, without warning. He extended his arms to catch her, and managed to grab hold, but they both lost their balance and he fell over backwards. They landed in a crumpled heap on the rooftop, all tangled up and badly bruised.

Down in the office, Cordelia swung her sword one last time, clearing herself a space and then - leaving five or so soldiers still alive beneath her - followed Doyle back through the skylight.

He was still lying on the roof, trying to get his breath back, when his girlfriend suddenly shot skyward seemingly out of nowhere. Her body tucked up and she somersaulted round and round until she landed, perfectly balanced, on her feet - barely out of breath. 'Show off,' Doyle said to her, as she helped him back to his feet. Even in these strained circumstances, she laughed. 'Come on, we need to get moving.' She began to lead the others across the rooftop, towards the next building.

'Won't they just follow us up here?' Harri asked, her breathing was laboured and she had trouble getting her words out.

But Cordelia only shook her head. 'Demons that size? In those jackboots? Gravity is not their friend. But it only takes them finding a ladder for them to be able to track us, come on.' And they scrambled across from building to building, sometimes using fire escapes, sometimes jumping - Cordy carrying Harri on her back, making their way across the skyline of L.A back to safety.

* * *

The elevator bell rang, and the door slid open. Wesley and Gunn stepped back out into the lobby. Wesley was carrying Connor. The little boy was fast asleep - exhausted after his long day's playing. His head lolled against Wesley's shoulder. They headed into Angel's office but, much to their surprise, the vampire was nowhere to be found.

'I'll take him up for his bath,' Gunn offered, reaching out to take Connor off his friend. 'You've had a long day, you got a lot to think about. I can take care of all this.'

'Thank you, today has been … it's been good for me.' But as he handed the little boy over, his face became dark again. It didn't skip Gunn's attention. 'Look, Wes,' he said, kindly, 'I know this is hard for you … no I do. I loved Fred too, remember? And when I thought she was gonna kill her professor … I know what it's like to think you're gonna lose her forever. That what's left won't be the same anymore.'

He shrugged. 'I guess maybe Fred was never the same again after that day - and I did lose her. But she was still Fred. She was just different. Every change we go through makes us different, we can't stay the same people forever 'cause…' he shook his head, 'the day we stop growin' is the day we start dyin'. But here's the thing - you got a choice. Either you decide to believe that Fred is gone and aint nothing gonna bring her back - and you gotta move the hell on. Or you gotta decide she's worth fighting for, start helping her. But whatever you decide - you can't just sit in the dark and drink all day. You gotta remember that there's more to life than loss and grief.'

'Yes…' Wesley said, though his eyes had taken on their blank and distant stare already. 'There's love. There's hope - hope that you'll find something worthy. That your life will lead you to some joy … that, after everything, you can still be surprised.'

'And that's enough,' Gunn told him.

Wesley nodded, thoughtfully, 'for some…' He turned and left the office, heading back to his own. Once he was inside, he poured himself a scotch - and waited. Part of him was even hoping, he realised.

Sure enough, the door opened - and Lilah sidled in. He poured her a drink of her own.

* * *

Angel got up to leave, Lindsey stood up as well - showing him out. 'Hey,' he stopped the vampire at the door. Angel turned back to look at him, 'what?'

'If things go according to plan, your people are gonna start getting suspicious.'

Angel nodded, 'I guess they are - if things go according to plan.'

'And when that happens, they're gonna go looking for answers … might even come to me for some.'

'I guess they might.'

'And on that day … what do you want me to tell them?' Lindsey asked. Angel stared at him for a long moment, scrutinising him, thinking how to answer. 'On that day…' he said, after a while, 'on that day, I want you to tell them just enough - enough to make them suspect me.'

* * *

After travelling ten blocks by rooftop, they had eventually scaled down the side of a building, clinging to a rickety fire escape, and hailed a cab once they were back on firm ground. Even if The Scourge were following their trail - their scent would be well and truly lost if they hopped in a car and drove the rest of the way home. The soldiers wouldn't be able to follow them.

Now the three of them were back down in Cordy and Doyle's basement apartment. Harri made coffees whilst Cordelia saw to all of Doyle's injuries, bandaging his bleeding hands and checking the cuts to his chest and midriff, from the broken glass, were not too deep.

'These shouldn't require stitches,' she said, running her fingers along the bright red lines which streaked across his skin. 'They will need cleaning though.' She got the wipes from her first aid kit, and Doyle hissed in pain as the antiseptic stung. 'Still such a baby,' she smiled, though she made her hands gentler as she saw to him. 'Is there any more damage I need to see?' she asked, when she was done.

He shook his head, 'just bruises … lots o' bruises.' He pulled his tank top down, just as Harri brought over the coffees, and then buttoned his shirt up before joining her at the table. Cordy cleaned away her first aid kit and then came to sit with them. 'So now what?' she asked.

'Well, Harri can't go back to her office - I think that's for sure,' Doyle said, clasping his mug in his hands and letting its warmth ease the pain in his palms. 'I think maybe you should get outta town,' he said to his ex wife. 'The Scourge know who you are now, where to find y' … they'll come lookin' for y' again.'

'Well what about you?' she asked him.

He shook his head. 'I can't leave. I'm The Promised One. But this place isn't safe for you anymore - and I couldn't stand it if you were hurt or killed 'cause o' somethin' I dragged you into. And we can't assume that Cordy's gone show up in the nick o' time next time.' He glanced across at his girlfriend, 'excellent timin' back there, by the way, princess, thanks.' He gave her a swift kiss.

Harri shook her head. 'I don't wanna abandon the cause. Helping demons is what I do.'

'So don't abandon it. Stay in touch. Go someplace - set up a safehouse. We'll send the demons right to y' … you know, after extensive background checkin' first. Make sure they're not crazy people with a grudge, lookin' to sell us out. You can help them on to where they're goin' from there.'

'I think Doyle's right,' Cordelia said. 'And I hate to publicly agree with him, because it will only go to his head … but The Scourge will wanna take you out, now they know you're mixed up in this. Being human won't be enough to protect you. You're in the same boat as all the demon refugees we've been helping … so you're gonna have to do the same as them.'

'Plus - judgin' by what that Aamonbael seemed to think, they probably assume you're still my wife,' Doyle added. 'Taking out the supposed wife o' The Promised One would have its own reward, even if y' weren't actively helpin' out. You're on their list now, Harri - and if there was a way to protect against The Scourge … well, we wouldn't be doin' all this in the first place.'

Harri sighed, and nodded her head. 'OK - I'll go. But I'll be in touch. I don't wanna be out of the loop on this. I still wanna help.'

'And we're still gonna need your help.' He smiled at her. She smiled back - matching his exactly: warm, a little sad and completely exhausted. Once she'd finished her coffee, she got up to leave. Doyle saw her to the door. 'Take care o' yourself,' he said to her, 'and ring when you're settled somewhere.'

'I will. And you take care of yourself too, Francis.' There was an awkward moment, and then she wrapped her arms around him in a hug. After a second, he hugged her back … then they broke apart. 'Bye,' she said, smiling sadly again.

'Yeah.'

Once she was gone, he went back to Cordy, sat down beside her and took her hands in his own, gazing into her eyes. 'I don't suppose there's any chance I can convince you to get outta town as well, is there?' he asked.

'Well that depends,' her tone was light, but the light in her eyes was taking no prisoners. 'Would you be getting out of town with me?'

He shook his head. 'You know I can't.'

'Then you know I can't either.'

'Yeah,' he sighed heavily, 'but it was worth a shot.' She smiled, and leaned forward to kiss him. 'Oh please, Promised One or not - you wouldn't last five minutes without me.'

* * *

The drinking session had lasted for hours, but eventually - long after the last person had left the building, Lilah had gone home too - leaving Wesley with the rest of the bottle. He poured himself another glass and stared at the amber liquid … was this all there was in the world: grief, loss and the hope that one day it might get better? Hope that one day you would find some joy - and not lose it a moment later? Hope that - in the end - it would all be worth it.

He took a sip of the drink, feeling the burn of it going down. A man's story was not done until it was over, he thought, not until his last breath - that moment when his heart stopped and his senses faded into black. It was only in that final moment that he could know if it had all been worth it … because that moment was the end.

His face crumpled as he wondered if it had all been worth it for Fred, in the end, when her brain collapsed and her heart ceased its beating … or had she been too frightened to even consider - her purpose, the worthiness of the life she had lived? Perhaps none of it mattered, when that final moment eventually came. Perhaps the end was worth it in itself. It would be a long time before he knew for sure … and he had so many grim, inexorable moments between now and then, when the loss and grief and lack of hope did still mean something.

He took another sip and thought about what Gunn had said about the nature of change. Poor Charles, he thought he knew something of what Wesley was feeling - thought he could relate - but of course he could not possibly know. Losing Fred's love was as nothing to losing Fred's life. Wesley should know, he had lived without the one for long enough - and now he was without the other. What had happened to Fred's body, what was in there now - that didn't compare to the woman herself, her soul whole and her own, growing and changing and learning. It wasn't the same.

And yet - the changes were not complete. The death not final. Not yet. Fred's frail, human body could not withstand the power that now ran through her. It would burn her out, growing brighter and brighter until it could not be contained within the shell of herself any longer - and then it would burst outwards - destroying everything in its wake. Destroying Fred's body. And what was left of her mind.

If they could not stop this from happening, then she would be truly dead, truly gone - and maybe he could, one day, find a way to put one foot in front of the other and find a new reason to live. But if they could stop it … if they could find a way to bind her power, would she still be as she was now but less volatile? Or might they find a way to take everything that didn't belong there away, draw it out of her? Could she be Fred again? Could they build a device that would allow her to be Fred again?

Fred could have done it, he realised, up in her lab. Of course she could - perhaps she was the only one … he laughed darkly at the irony. But … he put his glass down, there were all the tools, all the research, all the tech in the world in those labs. He was no Fred but … he knew his way around a mystical-techno hybrid weapon, they had worked on them together in the past. Her research on that would still be up there.

He looked up, as if seeing the lab in his mind's eye. Perhaps he could find a way to bring her back, build something to make her whole again. Something needed to be done about the power that was slowly killing her, and she would be relying on bookman to come through - to help her, to take her home.

He got to his feet. He could try. If nothing else - he could try. And if he failed, then she would be dead, and that would be that. But he would always know he had done everything he could to save her. And that would matter, he realised. One day, when the agony was less, knowing he had done his best would help.

He made his way through the darkened lobby and up the stairs, and then into her deserted lab, to start to find a way to help her.

* * *

**A/N Next episode is 'Origin' **


	70. Origin: Part One

**Origin**

_Part One_

The demons pulled the man right off his front lawn and began to pummel him out in the street, under the lights - so all his neighbours watching from their own yards could get a good view. They were M'Fashnik demons, massive and muscular, super strong - and out for money.

The man's wife screamed, as he dropped to the floor with a grunt of pain and the massive demons began to kick him in the ribs. The whole neighbourhood was out watching - nobody moved a muscle to help. Nobody said anything. The beating continued, the man cried out less and less and was eventually silent - and still.

That was when the demons tipped him back onto his front lawn, leaving him there in a bloodied huddle. His wife dropped to the ground beside him, her hands shaking as she tried to get a look at his wounds. The demons ignored her, instead they stood in the middle of the road and addressed their watchful audience. 'We didn't want you to see that,' the leader shouted out, so everyone in the street could hear him. 'But it was necessary. You all need to understand: what's at stake here, what danger you're all in. There are creatures out there much much worse than us. Creatures that won't stop once you're bleeding. Creatures that will tear you apart, shred you to pieces, devour your children … and only we can stop them from coming round here and doing exactly that. Only we can keep them out of this neighbourhood. Only we can keep your families safe, and all that takes is a little of your money. So … is there anyone else who doesn't feel like paying up this evening?'

There was a moment of silence, a deathly hush across the whole street - and then - as one - wads of notes were pulled from wallets, bundles of cash held up in the air for the M'Fashniks to come and take. The leader nodded his head. 'I knew you'd see sense,' he said, approvingly, and he sent his goons round to collect their spoils.

* * *

It was late, and Wesley was the only one left behind. Everyone else long since gone home. But he was up in the lab - as he was every night these days - working on creating a mystical-techno hybrid weapon that would stabilise Illyria's powers … maybe bring his Fred back to him. He hadn't told anyone what he was doing, up here, all alone. He wasn't sure why. Maybe out of fear of that ... _blue creature _finding out … doing something to stop him. Maybe out of plain old fear of failure, of creating an expectation amongst his friends which he would ultimately not be able to fulfil.

But even though he had no reason to suppose this could work - beyond blind hope - he still worked away at it. Fred's shell would be destroyed, if nothing was done, that was inevitable. The power she was too frail to bear needed to be drawn out of her … he hoped his invention would draw everything else that didn't belong there out as well. Leave nothing but Fred, as she was: perfect, loving and warm. And his.

He placed what he was building - a sort of gun, of course, he loved guns - onto the workbench and headed up to Fred's office to locate some of her research he needed. He flipped the light switch on and looked around. There were new equations scribbled on her whiteboard - some of them even extending out onto the windows, when she had run out of space.

That hurt his heart to see. He remembered - so clearly - the way she would scribble on the walls of her hotel room when he had first brought her back from Pylea. She had been trying to get everything out of her head, make it all quiet so she could hear the click. And when the click happened, she would be Fred again - back to normal - who she had been before she got so lost.

He wondered if that was what she was doing now, what tiny fragment of Fred was left trapped inside her own body, compressed and ground down by the dread king that was Illyria. Was Fred's hopeless soul trying to pound her way out of the prison of the infection which now consumed her? Scrawling out help messages in the language that meant the most to her - her equations - only no one else could read them.

She couldn't save herself. She would not hear that click, would not be herself again, unless everything that did not belong inside of her was drawn out … and that was what he intended to do. He began to look through her papers, searching for the work they had done together on techno-mystical hybrids - back in those happy, halcyon days when the worst of his troubles was that Fred didn't love him - hoping her findings would help him with the building of his device.

* * *

Despite the lateness of the hour, Angel was still working up in his apartment. There was too much to do. Too much at stake. His family, their lives, their safety - we're all on the line. The end was coming - or so Lindsey said, and Doyle backed that up - and he had to find a way to make it right. To make sure he and all the people he cared about ended up on top.

So now he was back to working with the clients files, going through who the richest, most important and most evil beings the law firm represented were. He was sure this was the right track, that these would be the demons who ran the Circle of the Black Thorn - The Senior Partners' emissaries on earth, those that kept the apocalypse machine running. He needed to identify them, locate them … and kill them. All without The Senior Partners realising what he was up to - and they were already watching him closely. Already knew he knew about the circle …. He needed to make them think he wanted to join it, get them off his back, get them to let down their guard… only then could he destroy it.

But, to that end, he needed to know who they were - so he could ingratiate himself. He already played racquetball, every Tuesday and Thursday, with Izzy. Izzy was the trusted acolyte of one of their wealthiest clients - he would be taking back good reports of Angel, and his progress to the dark side.

But Angel needed to impress more of them than just Lord D'hakmarth … and to impress them, he needed to find them. He figured one must be the Archduke Sebassis - he was underworld royalty, after all - the creme de la creme, Lorne had called him. Unfortunately, Angel wasn't sure he'd made an especially good impression back when they had met … that wasn't his fault, he had been trying to be charming and affable and that always came off as awkward. He just wasn't either of those things, and had been in way over his head. But next time they met - he would be aiming for smarmy with a touch of evil. He could pull that off no problem.

And it wasn't just the clients he was going to have to fool. To keep his family safe - for now - he was going to have to fool them as well. It was going to be tough, but it was necessary. He took a deep drink of his mug of blood and pulled the next file. It was for an ancient demon warlock called Cyvus Vail … this one looked promising.

* * *

Cordelia paid for her coffees and headed out into the early morning sunshine, already sipping from her hazelnut mocha latte with extra whipped cream. Doyle's was just a plain old, boring coffee - the same as he could have made himself at home … though she supposed the grounds might be better coming from a coffee shop than the cheap ones they got for the office. But still - he was just so unadventurous with his hot drinks, it was one way in which he had barely adapted to life in L.A at all. That - and having to dodge the worst of the sun in case he got burned. She smiled fondly to herself… he was so hopeless.

Just as the door swung closed behind her, and she stepped onto the sidewalk, a man barged right into her, causing her to spill her drink all the way down her front. 'Ow,' she plucked at her top between her thumb and forefinger, trying to pull the material away from her skin, to stop the hot coffee now seeping into it from scorching her. Then she spotted the stain, 'dammit!' She glared at the man.

'Sorry…' he said, though he wasn't paying that close attention to her. He looked distracted, worried even.

'Well, yeah buster you should … hey, are you OK?' She cut off her sentence and peered at him closely, when she noticed how harried he was looking. Almost afraid.

'I - I'm fine.'

She looked him up and down. He didn't look fine. He was quite young looking, but his face was pale with strain and there were dark circles under his eyes. His shirt was crumpled and his collar crooked - as if he had slept in it. Dark ink snaked up towards his neck from beneath his top, and the same ink was visible on his forearms, where his sleeves were rolled back. 'Nice tats,' Cordelia said, though her voice was sardonic. She didn't like tattoos. For all his many flaws, at least Doyle didn't have any of those - needle phobia. 'Are you sure you're OK?'

'Yeah - I'm fine - I need to go - I'm sorry about your … I need to go.' And he rushed off, obviously deciding against a coffee after all.

Left alone on the sidewalk, Cordy stared down at her ruined top and spilled coffee. 'Yeah … well … of course,' she sighed, deeply.

* * *

The light streamed through the necrotempered window into the boardroom. The team sat around the table - Angel at the head, his back to the window; Lorne and Fred sat right down the other end - Fred's head was hanging low, her curtain of blue hair blocking her face from Angel. Lorne seemed to be holding her hand. Wes and Gunn sat across the table from them. Wesley was studiously looking anywhere but Fred. Harmony sat in the corner, ready to take the minutes. 'Are we ready to start?' Gunn asked.

'Not yet,' Angel told him.

He wrinkled his brow, 'what are we waitin' …?'

The door swung open and Spike strode in, carrying a battered briefcase. He strolled along the side of the table, winking at Harmony as he passed, and then took a seat right next to Angel, banging his briefcase down on the table. 'Mornin' all - sorry I'm late.'

'Spike will be joining us today,' Angel explained to the rest of the team.

'Uh - and that is why?' Lorne asked him.

'There have been some ... developments. It's just better for everyone if he's on the team right now.'

'What about his destiny fighting the good fight out on the mean streets?' Gunn asked.

'It fell through,' Angel told him shortly, 'now, moving on - today is an important meeting.'

'Damn right,' Spike interrupted, putting his feet up on the table. 'Today is my first official meeting as a very loosely affiliated member of …' he paused and looked around. 'Wait, what are you called? Please tell me we're not scoobies.' He reached forward and unlatched his briefcase.

Angel shook his head, 'we don't have a …'

'A name? Probably for the best. You'd want to be "Angel's Avengers" or something.'

Angel laughed mockingly, 'Angel's Avengers - that's not…' then he paused and considered it… it did have kind of a ring to it.

'Could we get back to the meeting?' Gunn asked, frowning. Spike nodded, 'fine with me.' He reached into his briefcase, 'what's on the agenda?'

Angel cleared his throat and shuffled his papers, 'well, things are quiet - for now. Gunn has finished up with that corporation merger we had going on and…' he came to a stop when he heard the sound of a can opening. He looked over at Spike - who was now holding a can of beer. 'What? I'm listening,' Spike told him, '... with beer.' He took a swig. Angel put his head in his hands, 'I'm not sure I can cope with this,' he moaned, 'I know we agreed you could be here, but do you have to be such a pain in the ass? Gunn… the case?'

'Uh yeah,' Gunn cleared his throat, and leaned forward - resting his elbows on the table, hoping how uncomfortable he was about this didn't show to the others. 'My team did some real good work - able to pull the whole thing off without a hitch, we now have two companies happily married as one.'

'Well isn't that sweet?' Spike said, raising an eyebrow. 'Two evil, scum sucking leeches melded together into one giant, corporate dick.'

'Right - Spike we get it - you don't like business. But that is still sorta what we do here, so if you have nothing useful to add then just sit quiet, drink your beer and let the grownups talk,' Angel snapped at him. Then he looked back at Gunn. 'what were the terms and conditions?'

'Oh you know…' he shifted in his seat and struggled to keep his face impassive. 'Bunch of technical stuff, I won't bore you with the details - you can just be sure that this whole thing was in the best of hands and it's all running smoothly.'

'OK - great,' Angel looked down at the rest of his crib sheet. It was looking pretty empty - the real stuff, his real agenda, couldn't be shared with the team yet. 'So is there anything else anyone wants to bring up?'

'Illyria,' Wesley said. It was the first time he had spoken all meeting. Everyone turned to stare at him, except Fred, who kept her head hanging low. Wesley turned towards Angel, keeping his back turned to Fred. 'There's still too much we don't know about her. Her powers, her abilities - what they mean. How she can contain them inside …' he inhaled sharply and abandoned that sentence. 'We need to know what we're dealing with.'

'You want someone to test her,' Angel surmised. Wesley nodded. 'We need to understand the full scope of what she is capable of: speed, strength; we know she can affect time; what about dimension opening? And any other range of powers as yet unknown she may have. Though it could be dangerous - someone could get badly hurt.'

'Spike can do it,' Angel said at once.

'Hey!'

'Well - you wanted to be on the team - now you are. This is how you help. Help Fred.'

Spike glanced over at where she was sat - completely still and silent. Either she couldn't hear them, or she was pretending she couldn't. It wasn't even clear which version of her was in control right now - or maybe neither of them were. Maybe she had regressed inside of herself, just leaving the shell. He nodded, 'alright - but I want a clipboard.'

'Done.' Angel looked around, 'so are we done?'

'Actually,' Gunn spoke up before everyone got to their feet, 'there's a case that's been brought to my attention, just landed on my desk. Some M'Fashniks running a protection racket up in Solano Canyon. Nice community, only the demons are looking to extort them. Been doin' pretty well, as well. Making decent money out of the good people's fear. Only last night they beat a man bloody, nearly killed him, in front of the rest of the whole street. The neighbours all paid up but … one of them got in contact with the firm, this morning. Looks like maybe the sort of thing we should get a handle on, put a stop to. Shouldn't be too hard.'

'You got the report?' Angel reached out a hand and took the file off Gunn, reading it through. It was a pretty straight forward case, and pretty black and white too. Clear cut. This was just what he was looking for. It would do perfectly.

He slammed the file shut. 'I don't see that this is any of our concern,' he told the team. Gunn frowned. 'Angel - demons are extorting a bunch of law abiding humans, how is that not our concern?'

'We run a law firm, we don't care about law abiding humans - it's criminals where we make our money, that's who we care about,' he joked. Their faces were a picture. Good. He dug in a little deeper. 'Look - I see this is the sort of thing we would have sorted back at old Angel inc, but we have a bottom line to worry about now. There's simply no profit to the firm in us dealing with this. We can't waste our resources on it.'

'But -'

He got to his feet and buttoned his jacket. 'I said "no". We're not wasting time on the little cases.'

'Little cases?' Wesley repeated - his tone surprised.

But Angel ignored him, carried on talking as if there had been no interruption. 'So if that's all - you all have jobs to be getting on with. Go to them.' And he stared them all down until they got to their feet and vacated the boardroom. 'Harmony, get my blood and hold my calls,' he said to his assistant - and then walked into his office and closed the door.

* * *

'Yeah - he was totally rude, _and_ he ruined my blouse,' Cordelia called through from the bedroom, where she was getting changed - throwing her soiled shirt into the laundry hamper.

'Sorry, darlin',' Doyle mumbled, turning the page of his book and only half listening. It was from the large pile of tomes that Giles had given them. His coffee was sat at his elbow and he was tracing his index finger across the yellowing pages, following the complicated words and curling writing very carefully. They'd had two close run-ins with The Scourge in recent weeks. Demons were flooding out of L.A, and that was all thanks to them, but if they ever wanted to put a stop to the army once and for all, they needed a plan. And a plan required research.

'So I had to buy myself a new coffee and everything,' Cordelia said, coming back out of the bedroom and into the living area. She was now dressed in jogging bottoms and a tank top. Doyle glanced up at her, 'you gonna do some training?' he asked her, taking in her work out ready outfit. She nodded. 'Uhuh - if we're upping our game then that means I need to up my fighting strategy. I took out a couple last week - but I'm gonna need more, if I'm gonna go toe to toe with an entire army. So - you research a way to kill these things and I will make sure I'm in peak physical condition to do the killing.'

She did a few stretches to warm up and then wrapped her hands, before crossing over to where her punching bag was suspended from the ceiling. Doyle turned the next page, and paused to take a drink of his coffee before he carried on reading. Silence descended on the small apartment, punctuated only by the muffled sound of Cordy's blows raining down on her punching bag and the rustling as Doyle turned the page.

'What do you think they did to that guy - the demon guy - the one who snitched on you?' Cordy asked, after a few minutes. She kicked the bag so hard it swung violently and she had to catch hold of it to try and steady it. Her boyfriend looked up from his book. 'I think they killed him,' he said. His eyes grew dim, taking on a distant look.

'Well… it's not like he didn't ask for it. Or deserve it.'

'Yeah, it's not what I would have wanted though.'

'That's because you're too good.' She began to hit the punching bag again, 'a normal person would be OK with it.'

'Ah - wanting somethin' bad to happen to him would be seekin' vengeance,' Doyle shrugged, 'and vengeance is the thing that got him into trouble in the first place. I can understand why he wanted to hurt me. If someone had done what I did to Kali to you…' he trailed off and shook his head, not even wanting to contemplate the horror of that fate befalling Cordelia. 'But he didn't have all the facts. And now Kali's mom has lost two children … because o' me. I wish that wasn't the case. I wish there was somethin' I could do about it. But I can't… so the best I can do is keep fightin' the good fight. Hope more innocent people don't get caught in the crossfire. Like Kali, like Harri.'

'Harri's fine,' Cordelia said, taking another swing.

'Yeah,' he nodded his head thoughtfully, 'thanks to you.'

'And you're The Promised One - soon the whole world will be safe thanks to you.'

He chuckled ruefully, 'I'm not sure about that one, princess. Maybe if I can find somethin' in these books…' he broke off and began to scan his page again. He started to frown. 'Huh.'

'What is it?' Cordelia steadied the punching bag again and came to a stop. She wiped her brow and wandered over to the kitchen table to see what he was looking at. He turned the book so she could see it better. 'It's this passage here,' he pointed to where he was reading. She sat down beside him and pored over it. 'Says back in the day, The Scourge betrayed their ruler and were cast out of this dimension because of it.'

'Didn't we already know that?' Cordelia asked. Doyle nodded. 'Yeah, but see here,' he pointed again. 'Says they betrayed their leader 'cause of a doctrine they developed amongst themselves. That one day a bright light would shine across the land and cleanse the earth of all the unworthy, leaving only The Scourge in place. They were gettin' a head start on it by turnin' on their leader…' he rooted through the pile of books and pulled out the prophecy books of the Flugler demons he had received from Sammael down in Harmony's apartment block's underground car park. 'I'm sure I read in here about the bright light as well. Same language, same rhetoric. Cleansing the earth sort o' stuff. Though it was more vague - prophecy not history.' He flicked through the pages, 'yeah, here.' He pointed to the section he remembered.

'_The light shines as darkness falls,_' Cordelia read. '_The people scatter before the darkness and the earth is scoured in blood_… friendly.'

'It's the same light,' Doyle explained to her. 'The bright light that cleanses the earth of the unworthy for The Scourge would be a bringer of darkness for those they were trying to kill. The people scatter … that's the demons fleein' L.A. But if the darkness falls, then the earth is gonna be scoured with the blood of everyone with even a drop o' human in 'em.'

'If you say so - Mr. Cryptic.'

'I do … but see, here's the thing - how were The Scourge gonna kill the Lister demons last time around?'

She frowned, casting her mind back to so long ago. 'The beacon,' she said, at last. 'But you smashed it.'

'Yeah - but we thought it was just a weapon back then.'

'It's more?'

He nodded and pointed back to the passage in Giles' book. 'It's their religion. They build those beacons to bring about their own bright light to shine across the land. They're tryin' to fulfill their own prophecy.'

'Which means they'll have built more beacons.'

He nodded again, 'maybe even more powerful than last time.' He went quiet, biting his lip as he remembered the image of what was supposed to have been - how he was supposed to have destroyed the beacon by pulling the cables … and how the light had melted him: melted away the demon, and then melted his human face and then left nothing but a gaping black hole … and then nothing at all, except the echo of his own agonised scream.

'Do we know how the beacons work?' Cordelia asked, 'is there anything in the books?'

'They kill anythin' that's got a drop o' human blood.'

'Right - but I mean, how does the light shine? Is it a mystical incantation or …?'

He remembered what he had seen, the glimpse of the terrifying alternate past. 'They got cables. I guess they must use some kind of generator.'

'But,' she twisted her mouth up, looking confused. 'That sounds … technical.'

He only shrugged, 'standard wirin'.'

'No - I mean... Light that can touch you and know if you have human blood or not, judgement light - that melts some and passes over others? That's mystical. You can't technology your way into that. But cables and generators …? That's just normal electrical stuff. Like you said - standard wiring. These beacons aren't one thing or the other - they're some kind of mystical-techno hybrid … so how do they work?'

'I don't know,' he said slowly, but then his face lit up as realisation dawned on him, remembering the grenade Angel had shown him up on their rooftop, during one of their chats. 'But we do know someone who's an expert on this sort o' stuff. Maybe we should ask them?'

* * *

Angel was shut in his office - his door closed to any interlopers. Spike and Fred had disappeared - presumably to start the tests. Harmony had found Spike a clipboard, and once he had it he had seemed very keen to get started. But that left Gunn, Wes and Lorne at a loose end. They had been given no assignments. There was no work for them to do. And yet … Angel had told them not to follow up on the demon extortion case.

The three of them gathered in Lorne's office - the furthest from Angel's - and closed the door on themselves. Blocking Angel out, the way he had blocked out them. 'Somethin's not right,' Gunn said, shaking his head.

'Indeed,' Wesley leaned against Lorne's desk. 'Since when has Angel not cared about "the little cases"?' He frowned, and reflected further. 'Since when has Angel ever considered any case "little"? Every life has always mattered to Angel … apart from maybe Spike's.'

'He did sound a bit capital C corporate back there,' Lorne said, fixing himself a Seabreeze. 'And that isn't like our Angelcakes.'

'You think maybe it's just this place gettin' to him?' Gunn asked, sitting himself down on Lorne's sofa and leaning back.

But Wesley did not think it was that simple. 'This place has been getting to him since day one,' he said. 'Grinding him down, wearing him out. These so called "little cases" were the only thing that ever snapped him out of his perpetual gloom. It was the bottom line that got to him. The chance to be a champion was what he lived for. This is a complete reversal of the way he's been ever since we took over Wolfram and Hart.'

'Do you think it might be because of Fred?' Lorne asked tentatively, and took a great glug of his drink. 'Because of what happened to her. Making his head spin - changing his priorities?'

'It has got us all in a funk,' Gunn shrugged, 'maybe this is just his way of showing it?'

But again, Wesley was the voice of doubt. 'It just doesn't make any sense.'

'So what do you suggest we do?'

'Watch him - keep an eye on him. See if there are any further … developments.'

'Well - Mr. Grouchy is locked in his office,' Lorne pointed out, 'so... so much for that plan. What do we do in the meantime?'

'What Angel don't know don't hurt him, right?' Gunn said, 'so what if we use this down time to work the demon extortion case?'

Wesley nodded. 'I suppose. If nothing more pressing comes up.'

* * *

The sun shone down on Mariachi Plaza. A band stood in the middle, in their traditional outfits and sombreros, playing their jaunty music. People swarmed past, in all directions, some stopping to listen - a couple even to dance. The sound of laughter and conversation mingled with the trumpets and guitar …

And then an SUV with tinted windows drove straight off the road and plowed through the square. Mowing people down. Immediately the peaceful, happy scene descended into chaos and confusion, people shrieking and running - the band dropping their instruments and scattering.

And then the doors to the SUV opened - and four, massive, armoured demons - with red skin, and horns and tusks, launched out and into the crowd. They ripped their way through, tearing the people apart, limb from limb. The screams grew louder, the floor became wet and slippy with the blood - and people fell down as they made their escape, only to be set upon by the raging demons.

Just five minutes later - the square was quiet again, the crowd now dead. Piles of limbs lay strewn around. The blood pooled across the floor. The lead demon dipped his hand in it - and then began to smear a pattern across the ground, daubing just one word in the blood of his victims: _Angel_.


	71. Origin: Part Two

_Part Two_

Fred looked around the training room, it was large and circular and there were weapons hung along the walls. 'I'm not sure about this,' she said, uncertainly. 'This is … this isn't my thing. This is Angel - or Cordy … I've never been much one for trainin'.'

'There's nothing to worry about,' Spike told her, 'I got my clipboard, we can take things nice and slow - and I'll get it all written down and then have someone type it up in a nice report for Percy and the ponce.'

'Well... what's the plan?' She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging herself - it made her look very fragile. Spike didn't notice. 'The way I figure it - I hit you in the face, you tell me how it feels.'

'Oh…' she gasped and shook her head. 'No - I don't want you to hit me. Couldn't I just .. run laps or something? You could time me.'

'Nonsense, love - I'm a professional. I know what I'm doing.' He swung his fist and buried it in her face, without warning. She cried out and brought her hands up to her nose, which was now stinging so hard she feared it was broken. 'Ow!'

'Oh come on, pet - no need to be delicate. Wasn't that you doing all that damage back at the bank last week? You know you can take a vampire fist to the face. How does it feel?' He held his pen poised to make his notes, his face expectant.

'Like you bust my nose!' she grabbed the clipboard right out of his hand and threw it on the ground.

'Hey!'

'This is stupid.'

He sighed. 'You're not the one in charge here, love, I am - so tell me how it feels.'

'There's gotta be a better way to do this.'

'Tell me how it feels,' he hit her again.

BAM he suddenly flew backwards through the air, hit the opposite wall and slid to the ground, lying collapsed on the floor in a heap. Fred walked over to him, her head tilted, her blue eyes strange and glittering. 'It feels good to cause hurt, to wreak damage, after so long buried in the earth - sleeping, whilst the world changed above me.' She picked Spike up by the collar and threw him across to the opposite wall. Once again, he hit and slid down. 'Though it troubles me - that a half breed grows so bold as to challenge me. That my power is so long forgotten you seek to make your notes, test, record and revise that which you cannot understand and yet you seek to harness.' She picked him up again and punched him, immediately knocking him back down. 'This world is such a disappointment.' She stepped over him and began to walk away.

'Oy!' he struggled back to his feet, and reached out to stop her leaving, grabbing her by the shoulder. She spun around on the spot and punched him again, He flew head over heels and crash landed next to his discarded clipboard. 'You break so easily,' she said to him, watching him struggle to his feet once more. 'Why do you bother getting back up?'

Spike shook his head, 'we need to establish some ground rules.' He waved his hand between their faces, signalling an invisible barrier blocking them from each other. 'First off, no more punching me in the face. Secondly…' he pointed at her, 'when I punch you in the face, you tell me how it feels - so I can write it down on my clipboard. Third,' he bent down and retrieved his clipboard from the floor. 'No touching my clipboard. Fourth…'

'I enjoy hurting you,' Fred interrupted him, her head still tilted - as if she was regarding a small, strange and unappealing life form, and wondering why it was bothering her.

'Well, we're gonna have to fix that 'cause…'

Fred kicked him in the face. He staggered back, dropped his clipboard and threw a punch. Her head turned slightly, under the force - and he grinned, pleased with himself. But she turned back, smacked him a hard backhander and sent him flying across the room once again. This time, when he finally staggered back to his feet, his nose was bleeding. He reached up and touched the blood, glancing at the red stain on his fingertips. 'You're a tricky little minx - but I'll break you.'

She smacked him in the face again.

* * *

Cordelia and Doyle stepped out into the lobby of Wolfram and Hart - no one seemed to be around. Or at least, none of the team were around, as always the place was swarming with lawyers and paralegals and all the other people who had sold their souls to The Senior Partners. If they had souls to begin with. Speaking of which, Harmony, at least, was manning the front desk.

'Hey, Harm,' Cordy walked up to her, she placed the styrofoam container she had been carrying on to the desk and then folded her arms on top of it as she spoke to her old friend, 'where are all the guys?'

'Hi Cordy, Doily…' she smiled at them both and then shrugged. 'I don't know what to tell you, things have been majorly weird since last week. It's hard to keep track of who's where. Angel barely stops sulking in his office. Everyone whispers in corners. _Blondie Bear_ is on the team now…'

'Spike's joined the team?' Doyle asked incredulously, 'for real? What for?'

'I dunno - something happened … it's all very hush hush between him and Angel. At least, nobody tells me anything anyways … but I think the rest of the guys were surprised when he turned up at the meeting this morning. Just a vibe I got - especially from Lorney Tunes.'

'Huh,' Doyle frowned. He'd have to find time to speak to Angel, he could only hope this new development - and the secretive nature of it - was something to do with Angel's mission to take down The Senior Partners. He couldn't think of another reason the dark avenger would willingly allow Captain Peroxide into the building. But that wasn't what they were here for, right now. They were here looking for help on their own case. 'So, we know the guys are all hidin' - uh - is Fred around at all?'

But Harmony only shrugged again. 'Who knows if she's around? Or if Miss '_I used to rule the world' _is in the driving seat. They both come and go - with no warning. But Fred's body - can't promise who's in it - but her body is down in the training room. Spike is putting her through her paces, testing her powers.'

'That's great - thanks,' Cordelia flashed her brightest smile in gratitude, and picked the styrofoam box up again, 'uh … where are the training rooms?'

* * *

The men were just making their way through the underground car lot - over to Wesley's car, when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller id and then flipped the phone open. 'Can it wait, Jennifer? I'm on a case,' he said to his assistant. He listened to the buzz of her voice down the line. 'No - I see, well, put them on.' He frowned, waiting as he heard the line click and then he was patched through to another call. 'Wyndam- Pryce here. How can I help you, Officer?' he said. Then he covered the speaker end of the cell, 'it's the police,' he told the others, then went back to his conversation. 'Yes … yes … oh - I see. Yes well, thanks for letting me know.' He hung up.

'What's up?' Gunn asked him.

'That was the police,' he said again, looking between Gunn and Lorne. 'They have been trying to contact Angel but not managed to reach him.'

'Harmony's holding his calls,' Lorne said.

'Yes, well - it seems his decision to hide in his office and do nothing is going to have to be reversed. Something has come up and we need to look into it. I'm afraid, gentleman, that Solano Canyon will have to wait.'

* * *

Cordelia was frowning, looking over her shoulder as they walked through the hallways. 'I swear, this place is a maze ... is this right? Are we going in the right direction?'

'Harmony said head towards the medical bays and then take a left … we turned left.'

'Maybe we should have left a trail of breadcrumbs - how will we find our way back?'

'If we get lost we'll just have to ask someone,' Doyle told her, matter of factly. But Cordelia came to a stop, spread her arms wide and gestured to the emptiness of the corridor. 'Ask who? I swear - we're in the ass end of nowhere right now. This place is dead.'

'It is a little on the quiet side.' He admitted.

'A little?' they began to walk again, 'there are mortuaries more lively than this place. _This_ is what true silence sounds like.'

BAM. The doors to their right flew open and Spike was hurled out, backwards - slamming into the wall for what must be the hundredth time that morning. He fell to the ground, got back to his feet and marched back towards the doors, ripping them open, 'you _filthy _harlot!' he yelled - as he went. 'I'm gonna tear your neck out!' The doors swung shut behind him - and all was quiet once more.

Cordy and Doyle glanced at each other. Harmony had said that Fred was training with Spike. This must be the place. Tentatively they pushed the doors open and went inside, 'knock knock!' Cordy called out, 'it's only … us.'

She came to a stop, and stared. Spike was on the floor, lying on the ground. Fred stood above him, her foot on his head - like a soccer playing standing on the ball, pinning him to the ground.

'Oh - uh -' Cordy looked flustered, 'I guess we're interrupting.'

'You OK down there?' Doyle asked Spike, tilting his head to the side to get a better view of the vampire's red and squished face.

'Never … better.'

'Uh, Fred? Darlin'? You think maybe you could let old Blondie Bear up? It can't be good for him down on that cold floor.'

'I wish to keep Spike as my pet,' Fred said.

'Uhuh - but you can't go round mistreatin' pets, you know that, love. What say you let him up?' He smiled at her. She glared at him, but she also took her foot off Spike's head and took a step back, folding her arms and observing the two newcomers with an expression of detached calculation.

Spike got back to his feet, straightening out his coat. 'Thanks ever so …' he narrowed his eyes and scanned Doyle up and down. 'So you're the real Doyle.'

Doyle looked confused, 'uh yeah … not to be confused with all them false Doyles that are out there.'

'Well that's sort of the point isn't it?'

Doyle's furrowed brow deepened, 'actually - I think whatever the point is, I'm missin' it by about a mile, man, 'cause...' he shook his head and came to stop, indicating he had no idea what Spike was talking about.

Spike didn't seem to care that the Irishman seemed to think he was talking in riddles, though. He was still looking him up and down - as carefully as he had done the week before, when they first met. 'I reckon you look more the part, anyways. You got that … loyal sidekick vibe about you.'

'Uh … thanks?'

'I've been hitting the halfbreed,' Fred said suddenly. They all turned to look at her. 'He makes noise.' She looked at Cordelia. 'You are the unusually strong human - would you like to hit the halfbreed?'

'Maybe later,' Cordelia smiled, bright - but awkward. She glanced towards Spike. 'I thought you were testing her?'

'Yeah - well, we're off to a bit off a rough start.'

'Did you find anything out yet?'

'Glad you asked. So far I've established she can hit like a mack truck, selectively alter the flow of time and - uh -' he flipped through the notes on his clipboard, 'possibly talk to plants…look, it all started out OK, but I guess I hit Fred in the face once too often and out popped the dread king of the primordium.'

'Well - you gotta be careful with stuff like that,' Doyle said. He took a tentative step towards Fred. 'Uh - Fred, is there any chance we could speak to - you know - the other you right now? The one that … doesn't want to kill us all.'

'You think I will just relinquish my consciousness to the human I am imprisoned with?'

'I'd really appreciate it,' he smiled again, flashing his dimple in as roguish a manner as he could muster. Though he wasn't entirely sure that one could charm an Old One with just an Irish brogue and a twinkle in the eye.

'I do not bow to the wishes of half breeds and humans. Mortals are like mayflies - dead before they …'

'We brought you takeout pancakes,' Cordelia interrupted - proffering forth the styrofoam container she carried. 'We figured it was a bit early in the day for tacos.' She flipped the lid and let the sweet, starchy smell waft through the air. Fred's nose twitched, her expression softened.

She giggled. 'It's never too early for tacos!' she said, reaching out and taking the box, 'but it's never too late for pancakes. Yum!' She picked up the plastic fork and began to dig in. 'So what brings you guys here, anyway?' she asked through a mouthful of pancake and maple syrup.

'Actually - we desperately need your expertise on somethin',' Doyle told her.

* * *

Fred took the two of them up to her lab, whilst Spike went to find an ice pack to put on his nose. 'It was Wesley's idea to test me,' she told them as she walked along. 'He seems to think … actually, I'm not sure what he thinks.'

'Is he still not talking to you, sweetie?' Cordelia asked, gently. Fred shook her head. 'He won't even look at me. I pretend not to notice. And nobody says anythin' - 'cause they just accept I've gone screwy in the head … again. But he doesn't look at me, and when he talks about me - it's like he's talking about someone not in the room.'

'I guess this is just too big an adjustment for him to take in,' Doyle said, seriously. But Fred, who had just taken another mouthful of pancake, snorted and began to choke. 'It's a big adjustment for _him_?' she said, incredulously once she had successfully swallowed. 'Try sharing your body with a demon, if you want a big adjustment.'

But that only made Doyle laugh. 'Yeah - already did that … though you're copin' much better than I did. I guess comfort eatin' pancakes is a whole lot less destructive than comfortin' drinkin' scotch.'

'That's all Wesley does now,' Fred said, pushing the doors to her lab open. She discarded the empty styrofoam into the trash can as she passed it.

'Eat pancakes?' Cordelia asked hopefully. But the other woman gave her a pitying look and shook her head. 'No. The other one.' She led them up the steps to her office. 'It's just through here.'

They stepped inside - and immediately saw all the equations lining her board and scribbled out onto the window. 'You - uh - workin' on somethin' there, love?' Doyle asked her.

She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself and studying the numbers closely - trying to see the pattern that was _just_ eluding her. 'Illyria could walk through all the different dimensions, just … pluck away the walls that separate realities and enter any world she chose. I can see how to do it in my head but …' she shook her head. 'I haven't tried it … after everything …'

'You don't wanna get lost again,' Cordelia finished up for her, she smiled - soft and understanding. 'Plus - walking between worlds, that's some pretty big mojo. Best to leave well alone.'

'Yeah … but now I can see how to do it, the math is just fascinating. It's all just numbers, sequences, algorithms … it's all just science. And - even though I don't wanna go to an alternate dimension - I still wanna understand the physics behind interdimensional travel. I think - if I can just crack this - then it should be possible, I mean for anybody to go anywhere - no magic powers or incantations needed … not that I'd tell anybody.' She laughed, 'me - I - of all people - am not gonna encourage people to start messin' with worlds they can't handle. But I still wanna know _how_. I just … I'm missing something, and I can't see it.'

Doyle was also scrutinising the board, he turned to look at the numbers and letters scribbled on the window. He frowned. Then he leaned forward. Then he pointed. 'That x,' he said to Fred. 'it's in the wrong place.' He tapped the offending x; it was next to a 2 and placed over a y and inside a pair of parentheses. 'It should be the y on the top,' he said to her, 'the x goes underneath.'

Both women were staring at him, mouths agape. '_Doyle!'_ Cordelia sounded almost annoyed with him. 'You cannot be pretending to understand all this. You cannot be pretending to know something that Fred 'the brain' Burkle missed … in math.'

'What?' he twisted to look at them, saw the shock on their faces and began to chuckle. 'No! I don't understand the maths. If anythin' - all these numbers are makin' me feel a bit queasy. But what I _can_ do is spot a mistake in a pattern from a hundred paces. And I'm tellin' y' - that x?' He whistled and shook his head, 'it's not right.'

'Let me see that,' Fred pushed past him, picked up her board pen and eraser and began to work on the section the half demon had pointed to. 'Huh,' she frowned and scribbled some more, 'huh…' Then she turned back to them, her face now lit up with a bright smile. 'That might just work. Doyle! - you might have just given me my break through.'

'Happy to be of service.'

Cordy thumped his upper arm, 'show off.' He grinned at her.

'So - um' Fred put her pen down, 'you didn't come here to help me - you came for my help. What can I do for you?'

The young couple glanced at each other, and then began to explain their problem: they were wanting to hunt down and destroy some weapons that had the power to kill anything with human blood, but they didn't understand how the weapons worked - and they were loathe to go looking for them without first forearming themselves with as much knowledge as possible.

'They're beacons,' Doyle explained, 'these big, shinin' lights - and they run off cables. I've seen 'em. So we know they must be part technical - just normal electricity.'

'But the power of them - light that cleanses anything of its human blood … there's no way simple electricity is making those kinds of judgement calls,' Cordelia added, 'there must be a mystical component to the beacons as well.'

'And we know you've done some work on mystical - techno hybrid weapons up here in your lab, we thought maybe you could look into them, give us some info on how they work?'

Fred nodded, 'sure, I can give it a go. Who is it that's making these things?'

'Oh, just some old friends of ours - go by the not so cheerful soundin' name o' "The Scourge".'

Fred froze. Her eyes glittered and her expression closed up - going blank. And then her head tilted and her body stiffened. 'The Scourge roam free across this land? Is this world filled with nothing but disappointment and failure?'

'Uh, Fred, darlin'?' He looked at Cordelia, worried - and then back at where Fred was now tense and strange, once more. Cordelia was also watching her closely, realising something. 'You know them? The Scourge - you knew them … before.'

'When this world was mine their kind were in my armies. Just one breed among thousands - weak, but wicked. They were not my strongest soldiers, not even my bravest. Their powers were few. But their evil was great. They loved to hurt, they would spill across the land and take for me whatever I desired. They feared nothing - not even death. And I threw them in death's way like the pawns they were, and watched them fall, and falter and stumble - but always some would rise, would contort their weak bodies into killing machines. It was like watching a dance. They made me laugh - so small. So wicked.'

'What happened?' Doyle asked - though he had an inkling he already knew.

'They betrayed me.'

'I'm sorry.'

She tilted her head the other way and glared at him. 'It bothers me that you think it bothers me. In my day betrayal was a neutral word. It held no more power to it than 'water' - no more hurt. We Gods would doublecross each other a thousand times over and make merry sport of it. One trusted oneself - and no one else… but to lose the loyalty of so weak, so pathetic an acolyte as The Scourge… it made me look weak, in front of my legions - in front of the armies that were mine to command. And once they thought me weak, they were mine no more. I punished The Scourge for their betrayal - locked them in a dimension of their own, desolate and dark where they would be trapped, never see the light of the sun or feel the air … but it was too late. All but my legion of doom turned against me - and I knew this was the end. That my time was over … and I took steps to ensure my time would come again. There was a battle … and then darkness … and then I woke up in this frail shell, imprisoned in the mind of this human. And now you tell me The Scourge are free to roam once more … and I fear there is no depths of despair that this world cannot plunder.' Then she cried out and bent double, gripping her head.

Cordy and Doyle looked startled, not sure what to do or how to help. 'Fred… can we … get someone? Fred?' Cordy reached out a tentative hand.

The blue figure cried out again, and then straightened up gasping. 'It's OK,' she panted. 'It's me … I'm me again … it's OK.'

'Fred - do you maybe … need to see a doctor … or?'

'No I -' she gasped for breath again. 'Illyria comes and goes, but I can hold on … I can hold on. I'll… look into the science of those beacons for you. I'll let you know...'

* * *

'Angel we need to talk,' Wesley pushed open the door to Angel's office and marched in. Angel immediately stashed whatever it was he had been looking at in a desk drawer. The watcher frowned. Angel was being secretive - that was never a good sign. 'Wes, I said I didn't want to be disturbed.'

'Yes, well - unfortunately no one gave that message to the Kith'harn demons who ripped apart a score of people in Boyle Heights not one hour ago,' he replied, coolly, raising one eyebrow.

Angel sighed. 'In broad daylight?'

Wesley nodded, 'it was a message.'

'And what has this got to with us?'

Wesley handed over a photograph of the crime scene - the word daubed in blood on the pavement. 'It was a message for you.'

* * *

The team were now shut into the board room. Doyle and Cordy had joined them, the gruesome nature of the attack, the unusual viciousness of the demons, made Wesley think that a slayer might be a useful commodity in this case.

'I urge precaution before you look at these photographs,' Wesley told them all, as he placed the file on the table. Everyone reached out to take a photo … and immediately wished they hadn't. 'Based on descriptions from eye witnesses and survivors, I've been able to identify the demons responsible as being Kith'harn demons. Here in Los Angeles they are known to work as the henchmen of a warlock called Cyvus Vail.'

Angel fought to keep his face impassive. 'I've heard that name,' he said. It was Lorne who answered him. 'I'm not surprised - he's powerful. Heads up a large demon empire, has tendrils stretching throughout L.A.'

Doyle raised an eyebrow, 'tendril - tendrils?' he asked, but Lorne shook his head. 'Metaphor tendrils,' he clarified.

'And he wants to speak with Angel?' Cordelia asked, 'hence the letters in blood?'

Wesley nodded. 'Certainly he wanted Angel to know who was behind this - using the Kith'harn means he did not wish to remain anonymous. He is - in his own way - extending an invitation for Angel to meet with him.'

'Well, gravy,' Spike sat with his feet on the desk, he was the only one who hadn't immediately discarded a photograph, and had instead leafed through them all. 'What say we take Mr. Vail up on that invite? Send him a message of our very own?'

'No,' Angel shook his head - but didn't elaborate.

'Angel,' Gunn leaned forward, to look past Wesley and get a clearer view of his boss. 'This guy sounds like bad news and big trouble. We gotta go in there fully loaded - gotta take all precautions.'

But Angel only shook his head again. 'You're not going in there - any of you. The message was for me. I'll go.'

'Angelcakes you can't go in there alone!' Lorne cried. 'What if he has his henchmen rip you apart?'

'He won't do that. He sent me a message because he wants to speak with me. So I'll speak with him, find out what he wants.'

'Who cares what he wants?' Gunn was now staring at Angel like he was mad. 'Angel, man, this guy had a whole bunch of people torn apart - _in broad daylight_ \- what he wants don't matter. Stopping him is what matters, and you aint doing that without us at your back.'

'I really think it for the best,' Wesley agreed. 'Vail needs to be stopped, and that will require all manner of fire power. He is a very powerful demon, his magic is beyond anything we've ever worked with before. If you're to kill him... '

'I'm not gonna kill him.' Angel stood up and buttoned his jacket, looking around at the team. 'Cyvus Vail is one of our oldest and most important clients. I've seen his file. We don't go round killing our oldest and most important clients. We are here to facilitate them.'

Wesley stared up at him, 'the bottom line,' he said coldly.

'Exactly.' If he heard the tone of the watcher's voice, he ignored it. 'So I will speak to Vail - and you can all get on with whatever it was you were doing before this came up. And I'm sure I can see this through to a satisfactory conclusion for all concerned parties.'

Spike snorted, 'Angel - you're losing it.'

'I'll take your opinion into consideration.' He looked around at them all again - and just managed to catch Doyle's eye, for a mere fraction of a second, before he looked away again. But it was enough - he saw a look of understanding cross the Irishman's face, before his expression too went blank. 'Well, if you're sure y' don't want our help, bud…' he said, shrugging his shoulders. 'Good luck.'

'Thanks.' He walked out. He heard them break out in conversation as the door swung shut behind him. 'Man, what is with him?' he heard Gunn say in exasperation.

'He's gone sack of hammers,' was Spike's suggestion. But then Doyle piped up: 'hey - he's got a lot on his plate … with everythin' - with Fred - runnin' this place, Maybe y' should all just cut him some slack, yeah?'

And then Angel was out of earshot and in the elevator - on his way to meet what he believed may be a member of The Circle of the Black Thorn.

* * *

Angel was shown into a large room, by one of the Kith'harn - it was a rich room, painted in deep and plush colours with ornate fittings, but it was mostly empty. There was, however, a dais at the far end - and on the dais was a large, elegant chair and on the chair was Cyvus Vail.

The demon warlock was ancient, with red skin that hung loosely from him in papery folds. His hair was thin and straggling white. He was hooked up to an IV drip and breathed with the aid of oxygen tubes. When he spoke, his voice was wheezy.

'Angel - I hoped you would come.'

'How could I turn down an invite like that?'

The demon laughed - it sounded painful, rattling around in his lungs. 'You will forgive an old man his whimsy. I just wanted to make an impression.'

'Impression made. Why was it you wanted to see me?'

Vail clicked for one of his guards, and a Kith'harn demon helped him to his feet. He took a few staggering, tottering steps down the stairs of the dais. 'A man of my age - a man of my power … he gains a great deal of enemies. Learns to see assassins round every corner, betrayal hiding in the undergrowth - sometimes growing bold, and coming out in plain sight. Of course I am not so feeble as I look.' He stopped to take a great, wheezing breath. 'Oh - my body is decrepit, but my powers - they are as strong as they ever were. I can control many things, Mr. Angel, a great many things.'

'That must be a great comfort to you,' Angel said, impassively.

Vail laughed his death rattle laugh again. 'It is! How much you cannot know. I am aware of all my enemies, see their next move before they make it. I know them better than they know themselves. They cannot hope to infiltrate my home, end my life, steal my treasures when I can see what they will do before they even know themselves, before the idea is kindled in their minds… except for one. I have lost one of my enemies, Mr. Angel. No matter how I scry and search, I cannot find him. And I don't know what his next move will be. In my state…' he looked down at his frail and withered body, 'I can hardly hunt him down myself. I need you to find my enemy for me, Mr. Angel. Find him - and bring him to me. There is much I would like to do to him.'


	72. Origin: Part Three

_Part Three_

Wesley had told Harmony not to allow anyone to disturb them, and then he had closed the team inside the boardroom and looked around at them, his expression grave and serious. 'I'm glad everybody's here,' he said, 'there's something we need to discuss. Urgently.'

'Lemme guess,' Spike said, his feet were still propped up on the table, crossed over at the ankle. 'Tall, brooding fella? Caveman brow?'

The watcher nodded his assent. 'We've all noticed it - he's not himself. His behaviour … the decisions he's making … even the way he's talking.'

Cordelia furrowed her brow, 'what do you mean - the way he's talking?' It was Gunn who filled her in, leaning forward, his elbows on the table, his hands clasped - explaining about the M'Fashniks that were extorting an entire community across town. 'Said we couldn't waste our resources on - and I quote - "the little cases", said that there was no profit in for us.'

'_He said that?' _She sounded scandalised. As much as Cordelia had always been the financial brains of the team, the hard liner who made sure they got paid … even she had always accepted that helping the hopeless meant taking on a lot of pro bono work. You could hardly charge a damsel in distress just because you happened to stop her getting eaten by a monster down a dark alley. And Angel … he had always been the most hopeless with money, the one most reticent to ask even those that could afford to pay to recompense the company for their work. The guys were right, if Angel was really saying these things then something was majorly off with him.

Doyle shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had reason to be uncomfortable - he was the one person in the room who could see the full picture, and he wasn't allowed to share. But at the same time, he had to try and head the team off from doing anything that might thwart Angel's plan - whatever it turned out to be - but had to do so in such a way that they didn't begin to suspect there _was_ a plan. This was tricky stuff, he'd only come here today to ask for help with the beacons … and now here he was taking part in a complicated, political dance - where he only had a vague idea of the steps.

'Look,' he cleared his throat, 'I agree that … on the surface, things Angel's sayin' might look … crazy. But … shouldn't we trust him? Shouldn't we trust he knows what he's doin'? Hasn't he earned that? Has he ever seen us wrong?'

Everyone looked down, nodding, their expressions a little abashed to have doubted their boss. Doyle was right of course, Angel was their leader for a reason. He always saw them through every crisis … except... 'I mean, there was that time he went crazy and fired us all,' Gunn pointed out.

'And the time he locked all the Wolfram and Hart lawyers in a basement and fed them to Darla and Drusilla,' Wesley continued.

'And he did set Dru on fire,' Spike added, nodding his head, 'she wasn't very happy about it.'

'And then he went insane, boinked Darla, got her pregnant - didn't mention it when his pig's blood got spiked with Connor's blood, pulled a total wig so that you and Wes were convinced he was about to kill his son and kidnapped the baby, and in attempt to get Connor back he signed his life over to Wolfram and Hart and The Senior Partners and had to come and work here, resulting in Fred getting infected by Illyria and ending up where we are today,' Cordelia finished up.

Doyle shook his head. 'Yeah - OK - but that was all a very specific set o' circumstances. Other than that - has he ever put a step wrong?'

'He repeatedly chooses to sing Manilow at karaoke despite not having the voice for the big ballads,' Lorne said. Doyle just gave him a dark look. 'I'm just sayin' - whatever's goin' on - Angel has his reasons.'

Spike snorted. 'I wasn't wrong. You really are the loyal sidekick aren't you? It's pitiful. I've known Angel longer than the lot of you - put together. The great ape is making a mistake - you don't have to make it with him. Think for yourself. You can do it.'

Doyle opened his mouth to retort, but Fred cut in - speaking over him, though she kept her head hanging low and her hands twisted nervously in her lap as she spoke. 'I'm kinda inclined to agree with Doyle,' she said. 'Maybe it's just 'cause I wasn't here for all the … basement, fire, boinking stuff - but Angel's always been the real deal in the hero department as long as I've known him … you know, all the times he hasn't been Angelus.'

Doyle smiled at her gratefully. 'See - Fred's with me.'

'_Fred_ … is under a great deal of stress right now.' Wesley said, through gritted teeth. The way he spoke - it sounded like it hurt him just to say her name. Her head came up, her eyes flashed and she looked annoyed - but she still looked like Fred. This wasn't Illyria. 'I can still _think!_' she snapped. 'God! I can still form an opinion.'

'And that opinion is to trust Angel,' Wesley replied. He still didn't look at her. 'You trusted Knox - and look where that got you.'

The room erupted into chaos. Fred had flung back her chair and was on her feet - looking very much like she was about to aim a punch at Wesley that would send him crashing through the opposite wall. Lorne had jumped up next to her and was trying to hold her back, talk her down. Cordy was yelling at Wes for being insensitive, Wes was yelling back about the importance of stating hard truths, Gunn was yelling at them both for a time out.

Only Doyle and Spike remained seated. They looked at each other across the table - Spike raised an eyebrow. 'When I look at how the whitehats operate … I never understand why none of my evil schemes ever came to anything.'

'Maybe you were just even dumber than they are,' Doyle offered with a shrug. 'Like hirin' a vamp torturer to find you the gem of amara … and you couldn't see the flaw in that plan?'

Spike suddenly looked surprised - he leaned forward in his seat, just pushing his torso forward - his feet remained on the table, and peered at Doyle. 'You were with Angel when he had the gem of amara,' he said - it wasn't a question, but Doyle nodded. 'I met you - saw you, you called me a dimwit,' Spike remembered. Doyle nodded again. Spike laughed and shook his head, thinking of how easily he had been tricked by the fake Doyle - when he had known the real Doyle the whole time. 'I really am a dimwit.'

Doyle shrugged again, 'it's probably the peroxide killin' off y' brain cells.' He turned back to view the ongoing fight: everyone was very red in the face - their features twisted up with anger, fingers were pointing, accusations being hurled. It wasn't ideal … but it suited Doyle OK. The team fighting amongst themselves was better than them concentrating on whatever Angel was doing.

Unfortunately, luck was not on his side. The door opened and Harmony cleared her throat very loudly and determinedly. Everyone froze mid screaming match - going silent - their eyes sliding over to look at her. 'Uh - _guys!'_ she sounded annoyed. 'You cannot make this much noise - you're disturbing, like, the entire building. You need to sit down and get on with your secret hush hush meeting - with a little more emphasis on the hush. Now can I get you anything - like a water? … or a whole bunch of elephant tranquilizers?'

Wesley cleared his throat, his face slowly turning back to its normal shade. 'Yes, actually, Harmony. I'd like you to pull every file the firm has on a warlock named Cyvus Vail - and bring them in here.' He turned back to look at the now quiet team. 'We need to find out what we can about this warlock Angel is so eager to help.'

* * *

The IV drip trailed behind Vail as he walked in a very slow circle around Angel. Angel stood still, his arms folded across his chest, following the demon with his eyes. 'His name is Kendrick,' Vail said, 'Miles Kendrick - just a human, a nasty little cur. But powerful. One of the great mages of his species - surprising in one so young.'

'And you and he are enemies?' Angel clarified.

'We are now.'

'Meaning?'

'He double crossed me. We were working on a project together - there were many of us, some of the most powerful sorcerers along the west coast.'

'What was the project?'

'Well - that is not your business, Mr. Angel,' Vail said. His voice had grown more breathless and wheezy than normal. He snapped his fingers and one of his guards helped him back up the steps of the dais and into his seat. 'All you need to know is that he left me in the lurch. We were pooling a great deal of our resources and he stole the lot and disappeared.'

'Resources - you mean - what? Money? Crystals? Magic sage?'

Vail tutted. 'I mean power, boy. He took the magic we had all expended - stored in a container - he took it.'

'You can store magic that way?'

Vail laughed his deathrattle laugh. 'You can do anything with magic. That's what makes it magic. But you should know power can be stored and contained … did not such a creation turn you into a puppet just a month ago?' The wheezing deathrattle continued.

Angel blushed, 'you know about that?'

'I know a great many things, Mr. Angel.'

'But not where Kendrick is.'

'No.'

'Is he using the power he stole to keep himself hidden?' Angel asked. But Vail shook his head. 'He sold it. My power. He sold it to some hamfisted Murloch demons down in Belize. Well,' he laughed again. 'They didn't keep it for long. Them I could scry for. I found them, took it back - and made them pay. No. Kendrick is using other means to hide. And I need you to uncover it.'

'Well - I'll do what I can for you, Mr. Vail. Wolfram and Hart is a full service law firm, it's our job to see to it that our clients lives run more smoothly. And you're a very important client. But next time you need my services, please - a phone call will do. There's no need for a massacre.' He smiled, suddenly charming, 'not that I can't appreciate the beauty of a good massacre - and I've seen my fair share in my day.'

'Had some of your own too.'

Angel brought his hand to his heart, 'some of my best work. The artistry of a kill is something to be savoured - like a fine wine. But occasionally one can find poetry in the sheer number of dismembered limbs.' His eye took on a far away glint, and then he coughed - as if remembering himself. 'But this is a world of humans, and it's not in our interests - as demons, or the interests of The Senior Partners to draw attention to the goings on of the underworld. Wolfram and Hat prefers to avoid scrutiny - at all costs. In future, please try to keep daylight killing sprees to a minimum. If only to avoid the resulting paperwork.'

Cyvus Vail leaned forward in his seat. 'I've heard rumours of you, Mr. Angel. Many rumours. I'm pleased to find that they turn out to be false. This has been a most satisfactory meeting.'

Angel smiled again, 'and I can guarantee even greater satisfaction when I bring Kendrick to you: dead or alive.'

'oh, alive please,' Vail chuckled. 'There's not much fun to be had with him if he's dead.'

'Alive it is - bound, bloodied, kicking and screaming. You'll hear back from me in a few hours.' He turned and left the throne room, thinking that this meeting had gone rather better than his one with Sebassis, all those months ago.

* * *

The team were still sitting around the table, now flicking through the files Harmony had brought in. Everything the company had on Cyvus Vail. 'Oh - here we go,' Lorne said, smacking the file he was reading with the back of his hand. 'Seems like Vail is one of the firm's go to warlocks when it comes to magical mojo; specialises in memory restructuring, mind control, temporal shifts…'

'That's a lot of juice,' Spike said, 'restructuring memories - it's no small spell. It means rebuilding the whole world. I've seen it done.'

Doyle nodded. 'Yeah - you know when I was in England, Dawn was tellin' me about how she wasn't real and how all her memories were false. It was hard to get my head around. She and Cordy knew each other but … apparently that was the first time they'd ever actually met. And even weirder - I remember Cordy tellin' me about the slayer's kid sister back in the early days of AI. Except Dawn didn't even exist back then. Like Spike said - memory modification spells change the whole world. If Vail has this kind o' power … then he's not someone you wanna get on the wrong side of.' He looked up from his file and saw Spike staring at him, 'what now?' he sighed. Spike had been staring at him one way or another since they'd met.

'You saw the niblet,' Spike said. There was a - very slight - tremble to his voice. 'Dawny - you spoke to her.'

'Uh - yeah - a while ago now.'

'How was she?'

'She's … good. Missin' home, I think, but she's doin' well.'

'We saw Buffy too,' Cordelia said. Her voice was soft, and she was watching Spike through narrowed eyes - as if it was suddenly occurring to her what it meant that he had a soul now, that he cared about people. That he missed his own friends, his old life. 'They're both doing really well.'

'Well that's…' Spike cleared his throat, 'that's good. So - anything else on this Vail fella?' he asked - his voice becoming brusque and business-like as he swiftly changed the subject.

'The firm's been representing him since the early twentieth century,' Gunn said, reading from his own file. 'He'd just come up from the lower dimensions - was a younger demon back then, building his power base. Seems to have been a very successful relationship between the two - a lot of back scratching going on.'

'Well - you can see why maybe Angel was so keen to look out for him then,' Doyle said, looking around the table and hoping to convince them. 'If he's an important client o' the firm … and Angel's the CEO - he's gotta look out for the…'

'Bottom line?' Wesley finished up for him. His voice was dry. 'Yes - a duty of care … and yet I'm reminded that this wasn't the case with Magnus Hainsley.'

Cordelia wrinkled her nose up, 'who?'

'Necromancer,' Gunn told her. 'The company used to help him out with getting dead bodies for him to work on.'

'_Ewwww.'_

'Yeah - well, Angel shut him down … and then killed him. One of the first things he did when we took over here.'

'And Hainsley - repulsive as he was - was a human. Vail is a demon. So you can see why Angel's change of heart to bend over backwards in service of the more lucrative but definitely more evil clients is of particular concern,' Wesley finished up.

'It's not your concern,' Angel's voice said from over by the doorway. They looked up, he was standing there, glowering, having apparently arrived so silently that nobody noticed. 'Back when we first took over I was learning the ropes. I know them now. Have a handle on this place - know what needs to be done to keep everything running.' He walked in and sat down at his place right at the head of the table, 'now - this is what I know.' And he began to fill them in on the missing Kendrick, and what Vail wanted from them.

'Here you go bossy,' Harmony walked into the boardroom carrying a box of files, 'everything we could find on Miles Kendrick.'

'Thanks Harmony,'

She put the box down on the table and walked out. Angel looked around at his team. 'Right - put everything you're reading up on Vail away, you don't need that - and get digging in. Kendrick is hiding somewhere. We can't use magic to find him. This means good, old fashioned leg work.'

Doyle immediately picked up a folder and - with an uneasy glance at Angel - Cordelia followed suit. Fred picked a file up as well and began to leaf through it and, with a shrug, Spike settled his feet back up on the table and also got to work. 'The glamorous life of a champion,' he muttered to himself as he started to skim through the papers in his hand.

Wesley, Gunn and Lorne - however - had not moved a muscle. They all stared at their vampire boss. He stared right back at them. The tension in the room grew so thick it could be cut with a knife - and the four people working buried themselves even deeper into their work as their only means of escaping the oppressive atmosphere.

'Angel - we need to talk,' Wesley said.

Angel stared at him for a moment, his expression was cold, but then he gave a curt nod of assent. 'In my office - guys - keep reading, let me know if you find anything.' He got to his feet and headed for the door which joined the boardroom to his own private office. With a glance at each other, the three men stood up and followed him. Cordelia and Spike both looked up from their files and watched them leave. Once the door swung closed, they looked at each other - making eye contact and seeing the concern in each other's eyes - but then got back to work. This was a problem between the inner sanctum of the team, and neither of them were really a part of that. Besides, Doyle - vision guy, sidekick extraordinaire, the guy in the know - seemed to be happy to trust Angel and get on with the job asked of them - so the two of them followed his lead.

Angel sat in his big, swivel chair, steepled his fingers and looked over the tips of them at his friends. 'Do we have a problem?' he asked.

'We just don't understand the way you're acting,' Wesley said, his tones were short with frustration.

'Is there any particular reason you need to?'

'We are your team, Angel. You're family. We've followed you through thick and thin - and if there's something going on then we need to know about it. We've earned that much at least.'

'What you are, is my employees. And the employees of Wolfram and Hart. Now Wolfram and Hart is a firm that represents Cyvus Vail and services his needs. Mr. Vail has needs. It is your job to service them. No questions asked.'

'Since when do we not ask questions of what Wolfram and Hart wants?' Gunn asked in exasperation. 'Angel, man, half our time here has been second guessing what The Senior Partners plans are and tryin' not to play into them.'

Angel tilted his head and surveyed Gunn with narrowed eyes. 'You know - for most of our time here, it's been me being cautious - second guessing - and you running full tilt towards the company line. And only now you're having misgivings? What's changed?'

'_Everything,' _Gunn said to him. 'Fred …' he trailed off. His implant. The failsafe being activated. Cordelia getting hurt because Gunn had backed a client over her. But it seemed like - just as Gunn came to his senses and realised what a terrifying beast they were in the belly of - Angel had suddenly decided to embrace the whole being swallowed lifestyle. And it didn't make sense.

'Angel babe, cinnamon roll, puff pastry, pumpkin seed, you're not acting like yourself,' Lorne's voice was more conciliatory than the other's had been, but he was still determined to make himself heard. 'You seem to be headed toward a dark place, my friend, your aura … it's beige. That's never a good sign - not on you. Not on any one. I just think maybe you need a time out - or an apricot smoothie - or a Valium?'

'So the problem is you don't like the way I'm doing my job,' Angel said to them all. 'Newsflash! This is the way my job is supposed to be done. What you have is a problem with the company we work for.'

'It's Wolfram and Hart!' Wesley exclaimed.

'And you chose to come here. Something about changing it from the inside out.'

'And that's a very noble cause. But you're not changing it from the inside out - you're toeing the party line. And we want to know why?'

Angel sighed. He brought his hand up and began to rub his forehead, as if he could feel a migraine coming on. 'The fact is - we have to help Vail. If we don't it'll cost us.'

'And what's the cost if we do?' Gunn asked. 'Everything here comes with a price. And now you want us to track down a human for the sake of a demon. So the demon can do what?'

'My guess? Torture the living hell out of him,' Angel said, his voice was blank. He was still rubbing his forehead.

'That's not what we're about!'

'Look - Kendrick is not a good guy.' The vampire snapped. 'Not all humans are good guys. He chose to get himself into trouble. He made a bad call and now he has to deal with the consequences. Everyone in here should know a little something about that.'

'But by and large - the consequences of any action in the human world should not be torture. Not legally - at least. And we are a law firm,' Wesley said.

'We're lawyers. _Vail's_ lawyers. Now I don't like handing a human over to be tortured any more than you do - I don't. But Kendrick stole a lot of mojo and sold it to the highest, demonic bidder. Human law can't deal with that, so when Vail wants his pound of flesh he'll take it himself. Kendrick knew that before he chose to double cross Vail. We're just the middlemen, seeing that underworld justice is served.'

'_Vengeance,'_ Wesley corrected him.

Angel sighed again. 'Look - all I know is that if we don't do as Vail asks, we lose face. We lose face, we lose business. Evil packs up and goes next door and we won't be able to find it let alone fight it. The Senior Partners will be down on us like a ton of bricks and the delicate balance - those scales we spend so much time worrying about - will be tipped right over. This is bigger picture stuff. Shades of grey. Isn't that what you've been telling me to embrace since we got here? And now I do - and what? You don't like it? Grey Angel - sorry _beige _Angel - isn't champion enough for you guys?'

He pinched the bridge of his nose, and paused for a moment. 'Finding Kendrick is the work we have to do.' he told them at last. 'Now - if you don't like that, if you can't be a part of that - then you know where the door is. But if you're staying, start being useful.' He got back to his feet and headed back for the boardroom, not even bothering to look round to see if his friends were following.

...

Inside the boardroom, the four of them were keeping their heads down and pretending they couldn't hear the sound of raised voices floating through from next door. Cordelia turned the page of her notes and stared at the document underneath. It was a photograph of Kendrick. She picked it up and squinted at it. 'Hey!'

Everyone looked up. 'What's up, Princess?'

She turned the picture around and showed it to them. 'This is Kendrick?' They all shrugged and nodded. Must be. 'But - I know this guy!' she told them, as the adjoining doors opened and Angel strode back inside. 'This is the guy who spilled my coffee this morning!'

* * *

'He was looking kinda stressed,' Cordelia told the group. They had relocated to Wesley's department to use the computers, were trying to patch through to the cctv cameras outside the coffee shop on Cordelia's block. 'Big circles under his eyes - I asked him if he was OK.'

'Well, clearly he was living to regret double crossing a man as powerful as Vail,' Angel replied, pacing up and down. His arms were folded, but he was biting the nail of his left thumb as he thought. 'But how come Vail isn't able to find him if he's right under his nose? He tracked the Murloch demons all the way down in Belize.'

'But Kendrick is a powerful sorcerer in his own right, yeah?' Doyle checked. 'Must have found a way to block Vail's magic. You can do that, right?'

'Sure you can,' Cordy told him, 'don't you remember your one and only foray into scrying? Wesley put up a barrier to block you - the spell bounced right off and knocked you clean out. You had a lump the size of an egg on the back of your head from where you hit the floor.'

'Why were you trying to find Wesley using magic?' Spike asked them, looking between Doyle, Cordy and Angel in confusion.

'Doyle and I had kidnapped Connor,' Wesley replied from over by the computer. 'There was a prophecy …'

'It was a whole big thing,' Cordy agreed.

Spike narrowed his eyes. 'You people have lived very complicated lives, you know that?'

But before anyone could respond, there was a beeping noise from over on the screens. 'OK, we're in,' Gunn called out. They all crowded round to watch. The screen showed black and white footage of the street outside the coffee shop. People walked past in every direction. 'This is live footage,' Wesley said, 'we're still working on hacking into the recorded stuff.'

'Shouldn't be a minute,' Fred said from over by her own computer. 'I'm just breaking through their security system. I'll have access to old tape any moment. I'll send it across to your screen.'

Lorne was standing behind her, his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it slightly as she worked. 'How you doing, honey bee?' he asked her softly.

'I'm OK. Keeping busy is better than...' There was another beep. 'There - we're in. Sending across this morning's footage.'

'What time were you there, Cordelia?' Wesley asked.

'Uh - what?' she glanced at Doyle, 'about 9 was it?' He nodded, that sounded about right.

'OK,' Wes clicked the mouse. 'Starting footage from 8:30 - fast forward. Keep an eye out for Cordelia.'

Fred and Lorne left her computer and joined the others. They all peered intently at the screen, waiting for Cordelia to appear. 'There I am,' she pointed to herself as she entered the coffeeshop at 8: 57.

Wesley pressed play - and they waited for Cordelia to finish buying her coffees and reemerge into the sunshine. The door opened. Cordy stepped out, a coffee in each hand. 'OK,' the real Cordy said, 'any moment…' no one else appeared on the screen. '...any moment … now…'

The Cordelia on the screen suddenly spilled her coffee down herself and tried to pull her soaking top away from the skin. She looked up and glared … but she was alone on the screen. She was haranguing thin air. The team all turned to look at her.

'_What? _He was there! He was right there. He should be stood right there - talking to me. With the big circles under his eyes and his full body tats… I'm not crazy!' she exclaimed when she saw them all looking at her. 'I'm not seeing things that aren't there … again. He was real. He was right there.'

'I believe you,' Wesley said, 'tell me about the tattoos. You said they were all over him?'

'Oh - uh - they were … glyphs, I guess? I could see them under his shirt and down his arms. Not all of them. But I got a pretty good look at what was visible.'

'Can you draw them?'

'I can try.' She was handed a pad of paper and a pencil, and she sat down and began to sketch what she had seen, wrinkling her brow as she tried to remember the curling and strange symbols she had only seen for a moment. 'There,' she said after a long while, 'that's all I can remember. It's the best I can do.'

Wesley took the pad off her and looked at her sketch. Angel peered over his shoulder, 'do you know what they are?' he asked.

'I can find out.'

* * *

Kendrick hurried down the street. It was getting dark, the sun was low in the sky, the shadows were long and the street lamps were starting to come on. He would feel safer once it was properly dark. He always did - he was a child of the night, and the black was good for hiding in. He had never had reason to fear the other things that might hide there - until now.

He walked into the store, digging in his pocket for change. He only came out of his apartment for food, and right now he was ravenously hungry. There was a television monitor hanging up above the door, recording all the people who entered. A woman and her child appeared on the screen as they walked into the store. The old guy behind Kendrick was on there as well. But the space between the two - where Kendrick was - remained as empty on the screen as if no one was walking there at all.

* * *

Angel had gone out to the lobby to tell Harmony to send out the swat team. They were to do a sweep around the coffee shop for Kendrick, starting with a radius of five blocks and increasing outwards block by block as necessary. Once he'd left his orders, he headed back into the team.

'Protection runes,' Wesley said, as Angel walked back in. The watcher put his book - one of his templates - down on the desk so everyone could see. 'Derived from the Enochian alphabets. The ones Cordelia saw are symbols, some kind of concealment spell. "Clouds before the all seeing eyes".'

'Concealment spell?' Angel said, 'that's how he's hiding? Is it powerful?'

Wesley nodded. 'They protect the bearer from being viewed remotely from higher powers, seers mystics. Or - transposed to the day - any means of modern surveillance.'

'That's why I'm alone in the footage,' Cordy realised. Angel nodded, 'And why Vail's scrying won't find him. Is there a way to get rid of this cloaking spell?'

'Maybe,' Wesley nodded. 'I'll have to look into it.'

'Do it - if you find anything, reverse the spell.' He began to walk away.

'Angel where are you going?' Wesley called after him.

'Hunting,' he replied, without looking back.

* * *

Kendrick paid and left the store - crossing the road when he had the light. It was fully dark now. The moon was round and full in the sky, winking down at him. But it couldn't see him. Nothing up there could. No higher power, no acolyte of a higher power, no locator spell, no scrying. He was invisible. As vanished as if he had never existed. He was safe.

He gained the other side of the road, just as the lights turned green and the traffic started to flow again. Just as he put his first foot onto the sidewalk - he heard the sudden sound of a dozen guns being cocked. He looked around in alarm. Men clad all in black had swarmed out of the shadows , and were now circling him - assault rifles pointing straight at him. He was surrounded. 'Miles Kendrick, put your hands up,' the leader of the commandos said.

And then there was a deafening noise from above. A strong breeze picked up and a searchlight beamed down on the circle of soldiers - and their captive. Kendrick looked upwards. It was a helicopter, circling above him. And there was a man, standing on the runner of the chopper, holding onto the side - his long, black cloak billowing out in the breeze, his prominent brow furrowed into a serious glower. As the helicopter hovered lower, the man dropped from the runner and plunged towards the ground - headed straight for Kendrick.


	73. Origin: Part Four

Part Four

Lorne paced up and down inside Wesley's office, he held a stick of smoking incense and the rich fumes were filling the air, cleansing it. But they weren't working to cleanse the doubt from the minds of Angel's team. 'Are we sure we should be doing this?' the green demon asked.

'I'm not sure of anything, right now,' Wesley told him. The rest of the team were sitting in a circle. There was a bowl in the middle of it and a collection of ingredients. Wesley held a scroll, but he was none too keen to read from it. 'Do we have the woodbury lichen?'

'It's here,' Cordelia passed it across. Wesley put it in the bowl. 'And where's our danbeetle skeleton?'

'Already in the bowl,' Gunn told him. 'Man - I got a bad feeling about this. We do this spell - make those glyphs go poof, and then what?'

'Then your man Kendrick finds himself in a whole world of pain at the hands of Vail,' Spike said.

Gunn nodded, 'Yeah. It just don't sit right, handing a human over to a demon.'

'I don't pretend to understand what Angel is thinking right now,' Wesley said heavily, 'or even to trust his judgement. It's frustrating. Angel is … he's asking us to take a lot on faith, whilst acting out of character and giving no adequate explanations as to why. It's hard to keep on blindly believing he knows what he's doing - to think that maybe this place hasn't got to him at last.' He looked up and scanned the room with his eyes. This place got to everyone in the end. This was a house of death.

'Keep in mind he can't get some without maybe going crazy,' Spike pointed out to them all. '... makes it funny.'

'In my time, a leader would punish such insolence with death.' They all turned to look at Fred. Her blue eyes were glittering and her head was tilted in that insect way. Spike sighed. 'Looks like the evil twin is back.'

'Angel is your leader. You have sworn to follow him - and yet now you challenge him. Not to his face - as befits a warrior, but dirty, secret betrayals behind his back. Mocking words, impudent chatter. Such insubordination is not worthy of those who would claim to be loyal. And should not be countenanced by those who lead. Perhaps Angel does not tell you his plans because he does not think you fit to know them…' Then she blinked. Her face scrunched up. 'Sorry - did I - did I just space out then?'

Everyone was still staring at her. 'Yeah…' Lorne said slowly, still wafting his incense, 'you know I'm seeing a lot of similarities in personality between Illyria and our own fearless leader right now. Like maybe he's been taking pointers from the old God King's playbook.'

'There's been a definite turn to the dark side,' Gunn agreed.

Doyle shifted uncomfortably in his place in the circle, and cleared his throat. 'Look - guys - I know you've got questions, and maybe that's smart. But right now Angel is out there tryin' to take down a man who's got a lot o' fire power of his own. And he's expectin' us to work our mojo and get those tats off Kendrick. If we don't do that … we could end up with Angel gettin' hurt - or worse. We don't know if Angel is powerful enough to take this guy by himself - and we gotta help him win this battle. 'Cause if we don't, he might not make it through to the war. And you won't ever get a chance to ask him what gives. There's a time and a place for questionin' Angel's leadership, but when he's out in the field is not it. We need to get this spell done, so Angel can come home safely. Then you can be as insubordinate and insolent as y' want.'

There was a moment of quiet. 'I think Doyle's right,' Cordelia said softly. He smiled at her gratefully. She took his hand and squeezed it. 'We can't risk Angel getting hurt or killed just because he seems to be taking his crazy flakes lately. We need to get him home in one piece, then we need to get to the bottom of all this.'

Wesley looked around at the rest of the team, 'does everyone agree?' he asked. There was a muted muttering of agreement. He nodded. 'Very well,' and looked down at his scroll. 'We need to sprinkle the ingredients with the arterial blood of an unclean.' He looked up and clarified what he meant. 'A demon.' He glanced around at the three demons in the room, 'sorry.'

The three demons stared at Wesley and then at each other. Doyle pointed at Spike, Spike pointed at Lorne, Lorne pointed at Doyle. 'He can do it!' they all cried in unison.

* * *

Angel fell through the air and landed on top of Kendrick, knocking him to the ground. He swung a punch but, before he could land a blow, the man's hand shot out and Angel's fist rammed straight into a sudden mystical barrier sprung up between them. The force of it knocked him over - and Kendrick got to his feet. He held his arms out wide and spread his fingers - pink flames jumped from his hands and sprayed at the circling commandos, knocking them to the ground.

Angel got back to his feet and took a couple of steps towards the warlock. Kendrick sent out a shockwave that knocked him backwards. 'Vail sent you?' he asked. Angel scrambled to his feet once again. 'Uhuh,' He launched an attack once more.

Kendrick held his hand out and froze him in place. Then he balled his fist - and Angel felt his throat grow tight and start to constrict. 'I'm afraid Vail is gonna have to be disappointed once again,' the man said.

Angel fought against the force surrounding him and shuffled a few steps closer to Kendrick. Kendrick flexed his hand again, and the pressure around Angel's neck grew tighter. 'You're determined - I'll give you that. But I can just keep squeezing 'til you can't breathe anymore.' He flexed his hand again, tightening his mystical control once more.

Angel stumbled forward another step - and then punched Kendrick as hard as he could. The man fell to the ground and the force around Angel's throat immediately let up. 'How?' Kendrick asked.

'I don't breathe - you knucklehead.'

'Vampire.'

'Big time.' He was hit by another shockwave - and flew backwards through the air once again.

* * *

'I don't think it would even work with me,' Spike argued. 'I'm dead - I don't have circulation.'

'Well I'm only half demon!' Doyle protested. 'It definitely won't work with mine.'

'Oh right - so I'm the one that's gotta bleed from the neck,' Lorne sounded annoyed, 'process of elimination. Well I don't accept that when there's a perfectly good vampire to use.'

'Discrimination!' Spike retorted furiously. 'That's what that is. Undead discrimination - and I don't have to put up with that from the likes of you.'

'Oh the "likes of me" - what does that mean? Who's making prejudicial remarks now, _blondie bear?_'

'Jeez you guys are such babies,' Fred reached out and grabbed the knife. The three demon men shrank back from her, she just gave them a dark look. 'Angel's counting on us.' Then she slashed across her own wrist and allowed her blood to pour out over the bowl of ingredients, shaking her head the whole time.

The three men were now looking a little shamefaced, as they saw the way Fred had just stepped up to the plate - when no one had even asked her to. Wesley, however, was looking away. His expression was pinched and pained, as he was forcibly reminded of the demon essence now inside Fred. That she classed as an unclean. That she could finish this ritual.

'Uh Cordy? Could you maybe patch me up?' Fred had dropped the knife and was now clutching her left wrist in her right hand. 'I'm losing a lot of blood here.'

Cordelia scrambled to her feet and ushered Fred away from the circle, she uncovered some bandages in the desk drawer and wrapped one around Fred's wrist, applying gauze and tape to stick it in place.

Wesley had shifted slightly so his back was turned to them. He squinted down at his scroll, 'sprinkle the lichen in,' he instructed. Gunn started to do that and Wes began to read the mystical incantation. 'Fabula mundi, sanguis incesti, vincula solve, invisia revela…' The flames of the candles guttered, the lights flickered and Wesley gasped. 'I think I can feel it working.'

* * *

Angel was bleeding. He couldn't even get close to Kendrick - the warlock used his magicks again and again to keep beating him back, shock wave after shock wave flattening him to the ground.

'You can't beat me,' Kendrick laughed. 'You can't take me. A vampire is no match against magic.' He sent out another invisible shock wave which broke around Angel, slamming him into the pavement. 'If you're all that Vail has to throw at me, then the drooling, geriatric hasbeen is even more past it than I thought.'

Angel rolled on the ground, groaning. He squinted up at Kendrick, thinking maybe he had overplayed his hand here. And that's when he noticed something black curling its way through the air, like smoke - and it seemed to be emanating from the warlock. He grinned - though his smile was bloodied from the pounding he had taken - and forced himself back to his feet. He smacked Kendrick a hard right cross. 'Guess again, Merlin -check out the new headlines - your epidermis is showing.'

'what?' Kendrick glanced down at himself - and he saw the black shapes sliding from his skin and then floating off through the air. He looked at Angel in alarm. 'What did you do? Do you realise what you've done?'

And then the last of the tattoos melted away in front of their very eyes - and immediately a great light appeared shining on the sky. They looked up at it. 'I think this is your off ramp,' Angel said - and before Kendrick could reply, he was sucked upward through the air, into the light - and then vanished completely. A moment later, even the echo of his scream had died away.

Angel collapsed to the ground, clutching his ribs. 'Oh man,' he groaned, 'maybe I bit off more than I could chew back there.'

* * *

When he finally limped his way back into the lobby, it was to find the entire team waiting for him there - and many of them were looking extremely grim. 'Angel, we need to talk,' Wesley said to him.

Angel sighed. 'Can it wait? I am … in quite serious pain here. Anything that needs to be said - say it tomorrow.'

'This can't wait until tomorrow,' the watcher protested. Gunn nodded his head in agreement. 'English aint wrong, man - something's up with you, and we wanna know what gives.'

'We've been through this. Now get out of my way.' He tried to shoulder past them. Spike blocked his way. 'Listen - you're a right vile git, always have been always will be and I don't particularly like you, probably never will. But right now you're acting like an even bigger git than normal. And I know you too well to just let that lie. Now, your friends, acquaintances and me - your self appointed pain in your ass - have a duty to tell you to stop being such a bloody berk and come to your senses. Whatever's got your goat right now, Angel, it's taking you down a dangerous path.'

But Angel only eyeballed him. 'Everyone who agreed to come to this place agreed to this path. If they don't like the reality of it - that's not my problem. Now I need to make sure that this case has been concluded in a manner satisfactory to my client.' He pushed past and walked into his office. He turned back and stared at them all - just catching Doyle's eye for a moment. 'Good night.' Then he slammed both the doors in their faces.

The team all stared at each other - silent for a moment as they digested what had just happened. Doyle was the first to speak. 'Come on, Cordy - this is a matter for the team to sort, and we're not a part of it anymore. We got our own work to be doin'.'

'But -'

He grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the others, 'we've been away from the office too long,' he told her. 'Fred,' he turned to the other woman, just as he reached the elevators, 'will you let us know if y' find anythin'? Could be crucial.' Then he bundled Cordy into the lift and left the rest of the team to their frustration with Angel.

* * *

Inside his office, Angel sat at his desk, wiped his brow and then picked up the phone. He dialled and waited for it to pick up at the other end. 'Hello? Mr Vail? It's Angel - I trust that you got what you wanted?'

'Oh yes,' the ancient demon wheezed a chuckle down the line, 'the screams coming from my torture chamber are exactly what I wanted... most gratifying.' He wheezed his laugh again.

'Glad we could be of service. Do let me know if there's anything else I can do for you - anything at all.'

* * *

The men shut themselves in Lorne's office once more - this time Spike was with them. 'It's bad,' Wesley pronounced, 'maybe worse than we thought.'

'What are we gonna do?' Gunn asked, taking his place back on Lorne's sofa.

'Well - and I'm only offering 'cause I care - but if it's what it takes … I could slap him,' Spike offered. 'It's what they do in movies when someone goes hysterical,' he added - when he saw the looks on their faces.'

'This is serious, Spike.'

'So am I, Percy.'

Lorne finished fixing himself a Seabreeze and looked around at the others. 'If there's slapping to be done, then get in line, stud muffin. Angelcakes is in a place and half right now - and if I have to put up with much more of that morbid scowl and beige aura - whoo - this ol' green hand is just itching to do the slapping.'

'I don't think hitting him is going to get us very far,' Wesley demurred.

'What about locking him in a box?'

'Spike!'

The vampire raised his hands in surrender and backed off. Wesley looked around at his friends. 'I think we can all agree that something needs to be done - we can't just wait and see what happens. However we need to move with caution. Do things carefully. If Angel is moving towards a darker form of himself - we don't want to do anything that might trigger a string of rash behaviours from him … I'm sure I don't need to list the many things he's done - to us - while feeling the strain. Charles, what cases are active in the firm now, any clients on a similar level to Vail?'

Gunn looked flustered - and immediately tried to cover for it. 'Oh - uh - I'll have to check,' he said. He knew that would sound suspicious, he knew that - once upon a time not very long ago - he would have had that information at his fingertips.

'Very well - once you've identified any potential candidates let me know, and I will start researching them before Angel has a chance to meet with them. Lorne, I need you to stick close to Angel - not close enough that he notices … just monitor his aura. Any changes - let us know immediately.'

'Aye aye captain.'

'And what about me?' Spike asked. 'If I'm not allowed to slap him.'

'If Angel is too busy embracing the shades of grey at the moment - then you will have to look out for all the so called "little cases" which have always been his priority in the past. Someone has to help the hopeless.'

'Huh - looks like your champion destiny's just made a total recovery, blondie bear,' Gunn said. 'Good for you.'

'Bad for Angel,' Spike said - and for once he didn't sound pleased at the thought of getting one up over his grandsire.

* * *

Fred was working up in her lab. She knew the guys were having a meeting about Angel - and she knew she should probably have taken part … but she had bigger things on her mind right now. For a start, she was sure that - since Doyle's intervention - she was about to make a breakthrough in the formula for interdimensional travel. And that was too exciting to put to one side while she concentrated on something more mundane. This was the sort of thing she had dreamed about discovering when she first came to study physics at UCLA. This was the stuff Nobel prizes were made of.

Not that she would be going public with her discovery - it was far too dangerous. But knowing she'd cracked it would be enough. Building a device that would be able to open a portal to any world - just to have it would be everything she could have ever imagined in her wildest dreams. She didn't need to patent it, or sell it or get recognition for it.

Besides - she was kind of cheating anyway. She could open any portal and enter any world she wanted, as it was. She had that power. Or at least - Illyria did - and that was inside her now. But not only did five years in Pylea make her cautious about wandering into different worlds … it also wasn't enough for her just to be able to do it. She wanted to know how. How her power worked - what was the math behind it all. She always wanted to know how things worked. And once she'd cracked that … anybody could do it, any time, go anywhere. It might one day come in useful. And it would be something real and tangible that she could leave behind when ...

She forced her thoughts in a different direction - after she was done with her equations, she had also promised Doyle and Cordy to look into their beacon problem for them, see if she couldn't riddle out how such a mystical- techno hybrid would work. It shouldn't be too hard - she'd already done plenty of work on those types of weapons … she frowned. Her research papers had been moved. The ones she had compiled about technology mixed with magic - someone had been looking at them. She didn't know who, but someone had been in her lab, looking through her stuff.

* * *

When he was sure everyone had long gone - when the whole building was quiet and empty and Connor was asleep, Angel took the Camaro and drove out to Solano Canyon. He parked up at the end of the street - got out of his car, leaned against the passenger door, and waited.

When the M'Fashniks came down the road, they found their way blocked by a grimly smiling vampire. Angel made short work of them. When the residents of the neighbourhood woke up the next morning, it was to find their money posted back into their mailboxes - though there was no note of explanation to go with it.

...

Angel just followed the screams - and the smell of blood - until he found his way into the torture chamber. He'd killed every guard he'd met so far - and the two Kith'Harn demons applying the thumbscrews proved no more difficult. Once the demons were dead, he untied Kendrick and helped him up.

'What? … you?' Kendrick stared up at him in confusion. He was breathless and bleeding and more than a little wobbly on his feet.

'Get out of here,' Angel said. 'Get out of the country, find another way to hide yourself … and don't ever tell anybody who helped you escape.'

...

The next morning, the sunlight streamed through the necrotempered window. He closed his eyes and felt a smile spread across his face, as he enjoyed the feel of it. He should savour this whilst it lasted … it wouldn't be long now. Soon the sun would be as much a memory as his humanity - and it was the one thing he would miss about this place … well, that and the cars.

There was a knock on the door and then it opened. Wesley walked in. 'Angel - you asked for me to postpone our talk until tomorrow. It's now tomorrow. We need to talk.'

Angel opened his eyes and the smile slid from his face, turning into a furrow-browed glower. 'There's nothing to talk about.'

'You handed a human, admittedly not a particularly good human, but a human nevertheless over to a demon to be tortured. The Angel I know would never do such a thing.'

'And yet here we are - and that's what I've done.'

'You're not yourself! Angel - if you're having problems - difficulties … I want to help. We all do.'

'I'm not having problems.' Angel replied evenly. 'I'm doing the job I'm employed to do - and I think that's your problem. But it's not mine. The case is closed.'

'But -'

'I said - the case is closed.'

* * *

Doyle and Cordelia were up in their office, working steadily through their prophecy books, when the door opened and Fred walked in. 'Hey,' Cordelia greeted her, warmly. 'How are you feeling?'

'Oh you know…' she shrugged, that was always a loaded question these days - and one she avoided. She held out a piece of paper, 'I've been working on your beacon problem. I think I've found some stuff - might help ya.'

'That's great,' Doyle got to his feet and ushered her onto the sofa and then went to fix her a coffee. 'We didn't expect to hear from you so quickly.'

'Oh well,' she gave a high pitched nervous laugh. 'Workin' on things helps keep me here - keep me focused. It's better this way I guess.'

'If we'd have known you were comin', we'd have got some waffles in or somethin',' he told her, handing the mug across. 'This is the best I can do, I'm afraid.'

'Take small sips,' Cordelia warned her, 'it tastes all kinds of funky.'

Fred giggled again. 'Actually I really enjoyed working on your beacons, it was a really good puzzle to get my teeth into. Did you know Wolfram and Hart actually had a beacon in its top secret vault?' she nodded her head, in her agreement with herself. 'Unfortunately some idiot had smashed it…'

Doyle choked a little on his coffee.

'... but I was able to analyse the technical aspects of it easily enough.'

'And what did you find?' Cordelia asked.

'Well, you guys were right about it being pretty standard wiring for the most part. If the cables are pulled then the whole light will shut off … but once it's lit up there's no way to pull the cables without touching the light.'

'Yeah …' Doyle shuffled uncomfortably. 'I've seen how that goes - "not well", is the short answer.'

'But!' Fred smiled, 'the magic is being channelled down the cables, same as the electricity. Just another form of power headed into the light filament. Let's call it a positive supply input.'

Both Doyle and Cordy wrinkled their faces in confusion - but nodded along, 'OK - let's call it that.'

'The positive supply is what tells the light to destroy anything with human blood - it's how the judgement is made, the spell that makes that judgement… but it's just information. Someone who knew about wires could change the information the light is receiving. They could reverse the flow of the magic - turn it into a negative supply input .'

'And what would that do?' Cordelia asked, struggling to keep up.

'The exact opposite of what it's supposed to.' Fred said, still smiling - even if it looked a little strained.

'Meaning...?'

'She means…' Doyle cleared his throat. His voice was heavy and slow, as he realised what she was getting at. 'She means the light wouldn't kill anythin' that had a drop o' human blood. It would kill anythin' without a drop o' human blood … Like The Scourge.'

'Exactly,' she nodded at him. 'It's tricky, but if you understand your way around a circuit board it should be possible. Though of course - if the light was powering up - time would be a factor.'

'Is there anything else we should know?' Cordelia asked. But Fred shook her head. 'They're a pretty standard design, actually. The glass has a protective charm on it - I don't know how the one I studied got smashed...'

Doyle coughed again.

'...shouldn't be possible. Switching them off works well enough, but doesn't destroy them - obviously. So the best way to render them harmless is to reverse the magic in 'em. Learn how to do that - and The Scourge can't use 'em without turning all kerpluey themselves.'

'That's great!' Doyle grinned appreciatively. This was the biggest breakthrough they'd had in ages. 'Now all we need to do is find 'em.'

'I can help with that as well,' Fred said. Her expression clouded over - her smile fading - and she looked nervously down at her hands, which were now twisting in her lap. 'You know - uh - you know how the seat of Illyria's kingdom was here in L.A?' she said. Her friends nodded. 'Well - when I … when she banished The Scourge from this dimension, she didn't send 'em very far. The entrance to their world is here in town. I … I know where it is. And … thanks to Doyle putting me right on that equation yesterday … I've got the formula you can use to open a portal to get there.'

'What?' Cordelia snatched the paper from her hand and looked at it. 'Fred - this is huge! This is … this might actually make the difference between us being able to fight The Scourge and just having to run away. This could save the world!'

Fred managed to smile, again - though it was a sad smile. 'Well, I guess if my being able to help you guys makes all that difference … then my being infected by Illyria, and dying and going crazy was all worth it. I guess it means it all had a purpose. That makes it easier - you know - to bear.' She looked down at her hands in her lap, again, she could feel them both watching her closely, could feel the empathy in their eyes - and the concern. But she didn't look at them.

'I guess I got no choice but to bear it, right?' she said, 'the world is as it is. Reality has been changed - but each change is just a point of experience. And we can't ever know what was supposed to be, or go back to the way things were before. You know that,' she looked up at Doyle. 'You've seen - I can see it, or Illyria can - what was supposed to be. You died. And yet the world changed - and here you are. And everything is different, but it couldn't be this way without what came before - but we can't see how things were after you died, how it was all supposed to play out. We're all different because you're alive. And now I'm different … not really myself… and I can see the world as it was, and as it is now and I can't always separate the two.'

She took a deep breath, her lower lip began to tremble and her eyes shimmered with tears. 'I'm fading,' she admitted to them. 'Sharing my consciousness with Illyria, her memories, her power… seeing what came before… I can't hold on. I'm having trouble staying here - I - I keep going there. I don't wanna go but … I can't hold on. She's too strong. I'm going to lose. I'm going to die.' She took a deep breath. Her voice wobbled as she spoke but she tried to strengthen it - tried to sound brave. 'But if I can help you save the world, before I go - help you in a way I couldn't, if it hadn't been for Illyria, that makes it worth it, right?' She looked between them both, as if desperately searching for agreement. 'It makes what happened to me important. It gives everything some meaning. Doesn't it? It wasn't just a random accident. I wasn't just some damsel in distress - I made a difference. My life - my death - it mattered.'

'Sweetie,' Cordelia reached her hand out and began to stroke Fred's hair. And Fred broke down and began to cry in earnest. 'Tell me it means something! Tell me it matters. Please ... I - I'm so scared. But I can't hold on - and I don't think there's anything left that can save me.'

* * *

Up in the lab, Wesley took out the research on mystical-techno hybrid weapons and began to study it in more detail. He used what he found there to put some final tweaks on his gun. It was nearly ready. It was nearly time. He would save her.

* * *

Once the day was over, and the building emptied out once more, Angel stole across to Wesley's office and took one of his templates. He took it up to his penthouse and then settled down in Connor's room, sitting beside the little boy as he slept. He called forth the information on the protection runes Kendrick had used, the symbols that clouded the subject before the all seeing eyes: seers, warlocks and higher powers.

He read everything there was on them, memorising every last detail - memorising every last curl and curve of the strangely shaped glyphs. This was the last piece of the puzzle. His way out. The last thing he needed in order to break free.

Now he was ready to bring down The Senior Partners. He just needed to wait for the right moment to present itself. And then every last chess piece would be scattered, and the whole damn playing board thrown upside down.

* * *

**A/N Next episode is 'Time Bomb'**


	74. Time Bomb: Part One

**Time Bomb**

_Part One_

It was dark. Angel had called Wesley into his office. The watcher was surprised - Angel never seemed to talk to any of them any more, didn't seem to think any of their cases merited discussion between the big boss and the little people - his minions. But now Wesley was called inside, he couldn't help but wonder if he had done something wrong - if he was about to get chewed out.

But it seemed that actually, Angel wanted to talk about Fred, or more to the point - the lack of her. 'Illyria's been in control for days now,' Angel said, seriously. 'I haven't seen or heard from Fred in - I don't remember how long - and the same goes for everybody else. I know this is hard for you, Wes - harder for you than anybody - but I need you to explain to me what's going on.'

Wesley sighed. 'Fred is losing,' he told the vampire. 'There's not room in her head for both herself and Illyria. It's always been a struggle for power - for control - between the two of them and now Illyria is winning that struggle. It was inevitable. She used to rule this dimension - _Fred_ could not stand against a god.'

'So what happens next? How do we help Fred?'

'Currently, there is no Fred to help. It's as I told you when she first got infected. Nobody listened, nobody wanted to know - wanted to believe …' he trailed off, and closed his eyes as he felt the sudden stab of the pain of his loss, deep in his gut. 'It gives me no pleasure to be proved right - believe me. This hurts more than I can bear … more than I knew anything _could_ hurt.' The loss of Fred was worse than the sting of Doyle's betrayal when he sold Wesley out in order to keep his own place in the family. It hurt more than the loss of Connor when Angel had taken him back - and it hurt more than all those months when he had been cast out and alone, and had turned to Lilah as his only source of comfort.

'So you're saying that's it?' Angel demanded. His voice was angry, he didn't like this news. Wesley noted that with interest. Even as detached as Angel had become, even as troubling as his behaviour was right now - he still cared if Fred lived or died. Or maybe he just didn't want one of his people taken from him by an outside force. That would be how Illyria would view the loss of one of her lieutenants - no sentimentality, just anger at being stolen from. 'There's nothing we can do?'

Wesley shook his head. 'There is no way to reach Fred. She is gone - if she ever resurfaces … it will only ever be fleeting, momentary. Illyria owns that shell now.' He didn't tell Angel about the gun he was building up in the lab, about his hopes of drawing Illyria from Fred - taking her power and hopefully more besides. Not only because he was keeping it a secret out of fear of failure - a forlorn hope he kept for himself but did not dare share with the others - but also because he didn't trust Angel right now. He didn't feel like sharing.

'So where does that leave us with Illyria?' Angel wanted to know. 'Once Fred's gone? What then? We're just left with this dread king of the primordium? A loose canon rocketing around - I can't have that. Not in my town. Something needs to be done.'

'What do you suggest?' Wesley asked wearily. Angel looked put out. 'I don't know - that's why I called you in here. What do _you_ suggest?'

'Illyria has the power of a god. I'm not sure there's much we can do. We seem to afford her some amusement at least - beating up Spike keeps her busy most days. There must be a reason she's sticking around, she could go anywhere - and I mean _anywhere_, any dimension. But she chooses to stay.'

'She chooses to stay because this place reeks of influence.' Angel's voice was irritable. 'Illyria had everything last time around, Wes, everything - you think she's not looking to get that back? You think she doesn't know Wolfram and Hart is the best way to get that?'

Wesley raised an eyebrow, wondering what it was that bothered Angel so much about Illyria wanting to use the influence of Wolfram and Hart. Was it fear of what two evil entities teamed up might accomplish? Or was it fear of having that all important influence taken from himself? 'She has a lot of power,' he said, 'if we could just find a way to integrate her…'

'You think she can just join the team?'

'I think she could be a great asset, assuming her power doesn't consume her mortal form, she could be of great use to us. An ally not a threat.'

But Angel shook his head, 'she's too much of a wild card. Too unpredictable.'

'Well it's to be hoped not. She's out on a case with Spike, even as we speak.'

'_what?' _

Wesley nodded. 'Since you have decided that the "little cases" no longer interest you, we are having to sort them amongst ourselves as best we can.' He didn't bother to even try to hide the judgement in his voice. 'Illyria can be a great asset in the field.'

'Or a great liability.'

* * *

Spike led Fred - Illyria, as she was now - down a dark alley lined with packing crates. They were headed for a warehouse where, rumour had it, a Gronk Beast was hiding out, kidnapping humans and feasting on their flesh.

'Nasty buggers, Gronk Beasts,' Spike told her. 'So be careful. Tear you apart with their teeth and use your bones for their interior decorating - once they've sucked 'em clean that is. Strong too. This one's been taking people off the streets, we've had reports of at least 4 people going missing.'

'I do not understand,' Illyria said, as she followed along - looking around the dark and deserted alleyway with her strange and glittering eyes.

'Well - it means people have disappeared. Not turned up at home or at work or wherever else they were sodding meant to be.'

'No, halfbreed,' she corrected. 'I understand that these humans are lost. What I do not understand is why you seek them - are they important to you?'

'To me, personally? Not a jot - but saving folk is what we strapping hero types do. Every life matters, all people hold an infinite number of possibilities, humanity is precious blah blah and all that Angel crap that means we have to go out and save the day.'

'And this Gronk Beast is strong?'

'Vicious too.'

'You may come to much harm fighting it. Has it done you some wrong?'

Spike rolled his eyes. 'Again - me, personally? - No. But it is eating people, love.'

'Do you wish to make its lair your own?'

He stopped and looked around, raising his arms to indicate the gloom and dilapidation of the place. 'This festering stinkhole? Why would I want it?'

'This is what I do not understand. You do not care for this Beast's victims, it has done you no personal wrong, you do not want its kingdom for your own and you may come to great harm by challenging it,' she tilted her head. 'And yet you challenge it even so. Why?'

Spike shook his head in disbelief and carried on trudging down the alley. 'Because it's what the good guys do. The heroes.'

'To be a hero is important to you.'

'I reckon so.'

'Is it important to Angel?'

Spike came to a stop and looked back at her. 'It used to be,' he admitted, 'but lately…' he shook his head again. 'Who knows?'

'Being a leader is more important to him than being a hero.'

'Yeah - I'm worried you might be right about that, pet. But whilst the great, big ponce has got his great, big head shoved up his great, big arse - it's our job to do his job for him. Gronks are killing people. And since you're godlike powerful - you might as well make yourself useful, if you're going to be mooching around.' He walked off.

She stayed still, her head tilted. 'Mooching?'

There was a distant roar - and Spike picked up the pace - running towards it. 'This way!' He ran into the warehouse, his boots crunching on the discarded bones of the Gronk Beast's victims. From the look of them there were a great many more than four. The roar came again, and he prowled forward - alert for any movement. 'I know you're in here…'

With a great, snarling bellow the Gronk Beast suddenly jumped down from the rafters and landed on all fours. Spike only had time to get a brief impression of red skin, and horns and teeth and claws before it roared out and smacked him away. He flew through the air and collapsed in a huddle on the ground.

Illyria walked into the space. The Gronk Beast roared again - she tilted her head. Her leg snapped up and she kicked it hard in the face. Like Spike had done, it flew through the air - though in the opposite direction. She walked over to Spike and stared down at him, considering him, 'you are bleeding.'

He rolled onto his back and groaned, 'yeah - we do that.' Then his eyes widened as he saw the monster back on its feet and bounding towards them again. 'Behind you! You need to …'

She spun round, swung her fist and buried it right into the Gronk Beast's face. Its entire head exploded - and its corpse collapsed to the floor.

'Right - yeah,' Spike coughed, 'or you could just do that.'

* * *

There was a rap on the office door. 'Come in,' Wesley called, Gunn stuck his head around, 'is now a good time?'

Wesley looked up, 'Charles, what can I do for you?' He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. Gunn walked in carrying a file. 'I found out what the biggest case we're working on right now is - the one with the most important clients? The one Angel is most likely to - uh - go a bit "beige" over.'

'And?'

He handed the file over. 'Some kind of demon contract needs signing. I don't know the particulars - yet. But it involves these guys - the Fell Brethren.'

Wesley frowned as he flicked through the file. 'They seem like pretty big players.'

'Definitely on a level with Vail,' Gunn nodded. 'That the sort of thing you wanted to know about?'

'Yes,' he closed the file. 'Thank you - this is exactly the kind of case I was expecting to crop up. I'll research these Fell, then - find out everything I can about them before you meet with them and let you know. And Gunn …'

'Yeah?'

'When you're with them - watch Angel carefully. Try to stop him from doing anything too … _beige_.'

* * *

'I think this must be the place,' Cordelia said - she checked the address Fred had written down against the street sign and the number of the building. Doyle peered over her shoulder to get a better look at Fred's notes. 'Seems like a funny place for it,' he said, lifting his head to gaze up at the building.

'Well obviously the building didn't used to be here. The entrance to Illyria's temple is now inside a bank. This isn't any weirder than that.'

'More run down though.' He wasn't wrong. They were in a pretty low rent, pretty dangerous part of town - not far from Skid Row. All the buildings were past their best, and many had windows boarded up with planks of wood. There was litter strewn about the street, blowing down the road. The whole place looked unloved and uncared for - and uninhabited.

This building in particular looked like no one had been there in years. It was dark inside, the windows were boarded and the paintwork was flaking. There was a sign fixed to the side of the building - faded and worn and creaking in the breeze - which proclaimed the place to be the 'Family Home' centre. The picture on the sign depicted a house and the silhouette of a man reaching out to hug a child. There was just something about it that made Doyle shudder.

This wasn't the first shelter he'd been to, he knew they tended to be in rough neighbourhoods - because that was where the need was. And because people living in nice neighbourhoods wouldn't put up with having homeless people or runaway teens housed right next to their homes. And in any kind of set up like this, money was always going to be tight - relying on donations, and handouts from local companies wanting to give their reputation a bit of a shine. The food bank he had used to volunteer at had hardly been the Ritz - and he'd enjoyed his time there well enough. The teen shelter where they had fought the zombies had been in a place very similar to this. Lord knows, Doyle wasn't judging where this centre was or how rundown it looked from the outside - he understood the pressures facing small charities… but nevertheless there was something about this building - this sign - which made his skin crawl. This was a place of evil. And the shelter it offered … it wasn't like the food bank, wasn't like Anne's shelter.

But - sinister as the vibes this place was giving off were - they still had to go inside. If anything, the air of evil only confirmed that this must be the right place. They crept through the hallway, it was gloomy and the floorboards creaked. There were great, dusty cobwebs gathered in the corners and wrapped around the light fittings - and Cordy kept a wary eye out for spiders.

Doyle took out the device Fred had built for them, especially for this purpose, and switched it on. The little needle on the dial shot round the scale, and the machine began to bleep softly, a light flashed amber. 'There's definitely been some interdimensional traffic here,' he said. 'We're close.'

They headed further down the hallway, and eventually arrived at a room where the door had been kicked off its hinges. 'I wonder what happened there,' Cordy said, glancing down at the bust door just lying on its side on the floor. 'No one ever bothered to even pick it up.'

'City records show that there was a business here up 'til '98 - and then it went quiet. Whatever happened - everyone must have just packed up and not come back.' Doyle had researched the address they now found themselves in, before they had set out. 'Family Home' had been owned and run by one Ken Sanderson - though Doyle hadn't been able to find anything on him, not even a social security number. In around the September of 1998 the place just stopped paying its bills and rent, it just seemed to shut up shop. And by the look of it, no one had been here since.

They entered the room. It was empty except for what looked like a small reflecting pool in the middle of the floor. Only the pool was empty, the tiles were slimy and had moss growing on them. 'Eww,' Cordelia wrinkled her nose.

The device in Doyle's hand began to beep louder - and the light flashed green. 'This must be it,' he said, looking from the machine in his hand to the drained pool on the floor. 'This must be where the portal is.'

'It would be,' Cordelia sighed. 'Well - are you ready?'

He glanced across at her, 'is "no" an acceptable answer?' She smiled and took his hand. 'On the count of three… one - two -'

He pressed the button on his hand held device. A ray of light shot out, scanned the pool, and then - with a final beep of the machine - a portal opened up right in the middle of the slimy tiles.

'Three,' Cordelia finished up and - still clinging to Doyle's hand, jumped through the whirling and distorted gateway to another world.

* * *

Illyria - for there was no Fred left, or none that could reach the surface anyway - punched Spike hard in the stomach. He flew across the room, but this time he didn't fall - and he began to laugh. They were in the training room, going through their tests. He no longer had to hit Fred to bring Illyria out, and she was well past the point of being able to fight her way back to control with simply the smell of pancakes.

Illyria was all there was now. It had happened so quickly. Spike refused to let himself wonder how much of Fred was still in there - still aware of what was going on but unable to affect the world, trapped and hopeless inside the shell of her own body. It hurt too much to wonder that, so he just concentrated on the godking in front of him - and tried to hit her.

He charged at her, she struck out, but this time he managed to dodge her fist and feet - and landed a blow in her face. She stepped back from him and began to circle - like a shark. Her head tilted, as she considered him. 'This shell - you have affection for it, for Fred?'

'Tons. Love the bird.'

'And yet you strike at her form without sentiment.'

'You aint her. I can see it. Lord knows, I can smell it. And I have no problem punching you in the face.' He swung his fist at her, but she caught it and then kneed him in the groin. 'You are adapting,' she said, disdainfully.

'Yeah - we do that.'

'Adaption is compromise.' She dropped to the ground and scythed her leg out in a sweeping circle, aiming to take his ankles out from under him. But he jumped and she missed him. He grinned. 'It's called learning. But then I guess you know everything there is to know.'

'When the world met me it shuddered,' she said. 'It groaned. It knelt at my feet. Illyria was all they needed to know.'

'And then came the internet.'

She punched him. He staggered back a few steps and rubbed his jaw. Illyria circled him again. 'You have nothing. Your kind has pulled this domain apart. Each of you has snatched a tiny piece of it. Even those with the mightiest hoards are paupers.'

'The one who dies with the most toys wins, eh?'

'To never die - and to conquer all - that is winning.'

Spike charged at her again but, with a wave of her hand, she altered the flow of time. He got stuck in the time wave and - as he moved through the air at a glacial pace - she calmly walked around so that she was now behind him. The time wave collapsed. He landed - she was nowhere to be seen. He turned to find her behind him - and realised what had happened. 'Now that's cheating.' She kicked him - and once again he hurtled through the air, this time slamming against the window of the observation room. As he slid down to the floor, Angel's voice sounded over the intercom, 'Spike - a word.'

Illyria gazed down at the vampire. 'You may go.'

'Yeah, great,' he wiped the blood from his lip and got back to his feet. 'Thanks so much.'

...

Angel was standing inside the observation area, looking out through the window into the training room. Illyria was still inside the training room. Angel watched her - she just stood there, still and stiff. Spike came to stand next to him, he too looked at the strange blue figure for a moment. 'That time stopping thing is a royal bitch,' he said at last. 'But I'm starting to suss out her million year old moves. Cheeky mix. Little Tae Kwon Do, little Brazillian Ninjutsu - ancestrally speaking.'

'You need to stop these sessions,' Angel told him - without taking his eyes off Illyria.

'Now hang on. I'm just now getting into it. Testing her has been sharpening technique I didn't even know was rusty.'

But Angel shook his head. 'We're not testing her. She's testing us.'

Illyria appeared in the doorway of the observation area and stared in at them. She doubled in pain and held her stomach whilst gasping. Her blue eyes locked onto them - confused, angry and afraid. 'I at least got her winded didn't I?' Spike said. He looked at her and smirked. 'That's right little Shiva, reckon you'll think twice next time.'

* * *

Gunn sat behind his desk, reading through his text book. This was a big meeting he was headed to and - whilst he would have Lilah at his side the whole time - he was unsure of his ability to bluff his way through and make it to the other side without exposing the fact he no longer had his legal upgrade.

There was a knock on his door and Lorne came in, wearing a hat and sunglasses. Gunn hid his text book under a file and smiled up at him, 'what's with the incognito?' he asked.

'Oh - this?' he laughed self-deprecatingly. 'Our fearless leader has got a bee in his bonnet about Fred or you know … who she is now.' An expression of sadness crossed his face, visible even behind the sunglasses. 'I've been put on following detail. Gotta keep tabs on her for him. I've got a walkie talkie and everything.'

'Still no sign of Fred resurfacing?' Gunn asked. Lorne shook his head. 'I promised to be her something she could hold on to … but I guess I wasn't strong enough to keep her from slipping.'

'You think she'll ever come back?'

'I don't think Angel thinks so - and he's in a pretty foul mood about it too.'

'So what's new there?' Gunn sighed. 'I gotta face the beast myself later today.'

'Illyria?'

'Nuhuh - Mr. Shades of Beige.'

'Oh - Angel.'

Gunn nodded. 'Got another client coming in. A big one. One of the types he's so eager to impress these days. I gotta do the whole hand holding, babysitting thing - make sure he doesn't sacrifice a virgin or sign away his first born just to meet his bottom line.'

'And if he does?'

'Man, what do I know? What do you do when it's your leader that loses his path? How can we steer a ship back on course when the captain's determinedly headed for the rocks … you know, without throwin' him overboard?'

'Tie him to a mast and grab hold of the wheel?' Lorne suggested.

Gunn smiled, 'yeah - Spike's idea of locking him in a box aint looking so crazy right about now. I just wish he'd talk to us you know? - Let us in, let us know what's going on in his head. We've been down this path before, he don't do so well out on his own. He needs us- our support, our help.'

'Yeah,' Lorne shook his head, 'but wherever he's going to for help these days - he sure as hell isn't accepting any from us.'

* * *

Lindsey answered the knock at his door - he was expecting someone, had an appointment - and sure enough it was Angel standing there. 'Come on in,' the lawyer said, opening the door wider to allow him entrance.

'You got anything for me?' Angel asked him, getting straight to business. Lindsey picked a dossier up from the coffee table and handed it across, 'I'm doing great by the way, thanks for asking - and you?' But Angel ignored him and only flipped through the file, skimming the information that was in there.

'These guys are elite,' Lindsey said, 'but then I'm guessing you already knew that. I hit up every source I ever had from my days at the old firm: every shaman, every warlock, hell - every guy in PR I could find. Exploited every last resource I had available. No one was giving up the goods. These guys - they strike fear into the darkest of hearts.'

'I got a good idea of who some of them are,' Angel told him, 'that's not what worries me. What I wanna know is how they get chosen.'

Lindsey sat down on the sofa, settling back to make himself more comfortable. 'They choose each other, select a demon - invite them in.'

'Any timetable for that? Is it dead man's shoes - what?'

But Lindsey shook his head. 'No, from what I understand, if they decide someone makes the grade they'll invite them to join … though the caveat is: once invited, you can't say "no" and walk away. They're exclusive, secretive - but happy to expand if they think it's in their best interests. The more the merrier, there doesn't have to be a set number.'

Angel balanced on the chair arm, 'so how do I get me an invite?'

'Well you have to get them to notice you first.'

'I'm the CEO of Wolfram and Hart. We all work for The Senior Partners. They should know me.'

'You're nothing but a meat puppet, right now,' Lindsey told him. 'You got any idea how many branches of Wolfram and Hart there are world wide, and pan dimensionally? And each one of them with a CEO of their very own - same penthouse, same car pool. Running a law firm doesn't make you circle material. That makes you a bureaucrat. These guys are royalty. And you're little more than their court jester. They're a big step up - way higher on the food chain of evil.'

'OK - so shared employment doesn't get me noticed - what does?'

Lindsey smiled - it was a little bit smug. 'You won't even get on their radar until you kill one of your most trusted lieutenants.'

'_What?' _Lindsey's words landed like a punch to gut. 'No,' he shook his head, 'there has to be another way. I'm willing to make any sacrifice, willing to die if that's what it takes. But I can't kill one of my family for this. Their lives are not part of the deal. Not yet - they haven't signed up.'

'Then you don't get into the Circle of the Black Thorn,' Lindsey shrugged. 'Hey, man - I'm just the messenger. What you choose to do with the message is your own business. You wanna walk away from this … then we can say no more about it.'

But that wasn't an option either. The PTB had sent Doyle a vision specifically to tell Angel to take this brotherhood out. This was them moving into the end times. The apocalypse was here and evil was winning, and Angel was on the wrong side …. Or the right side, if he cared about winning. The side of good didn't even realise the fight had started, and getting into that circle - striking that blow - was the only way they could make up the lost ground. There had to be a way around this - The Powers couldn't have meant for him to …

And then realisation hit him, like another blow to the gut - this one even harder. Fred was gone. And what was walking around in her shell was… dangerous, unpredictable, too powerful to be contained … and not one of them. If a sacrifice had to be made… perhaps the universe had already made it, but Angel could take the credit for that - use it - and so give their loss of Fred some meaning. Make her death matter. Make it count. 'I'll - I'll think of something,' he stuttered, getting back to his feet. 'Thanks for this,' he raised the dossier to indicate what he was talking about. 'Keep digging - if you find out anything else…'

'I'll let you know.'

'And if the others come knocking…'

'I don't know anything - I didn't see anything - and you're one crazy, evil bastard.'

'Exactly … thanks.' And he left the apartment, his unbeating heart feeling like lead inside his chest - weighed down with the knowledge of what he had to do.

* * *

They landed in a dark tunnel. The passageway seemed to be dug out of the earth - but electric lights ran along the rounded ceiling - the bulbs only gleamed dimly, however, and they flickered on and off. 'This is a whole different world?' Cordelia asked sceptically looking around. 'It looks like we just fell into a mineshaft.'

'Ah - there's all kinds o' worlds out there,' Doyle told her, leading her along. 'They don't all look like Pylea. I heard there was this one with nothin' but shrimp.'

'That's insane.'

That's interdimensional travel for y'. Infinite number of worlds with an infinite variety and every possible outcome. This one just happens to be a dark, earthy sort o' dimension. But then we knew it was gonna be a gloomy, hellish kinda place.'

'So I guess we just need to follow the tunnel until we find what we're looking for,' Cordelia said.

'Sounds like a plan.'

They kept on walking, hand in hand - alert for any sound or movement beyond themselves. Though - like the building above - this place seemed to be deserted. 'You know - Fred really came through for us,' Cordelia said after a while. 'Knowing about this place, building that device for us … being able to crack open the walls between worlds any time she wants because she worked out the formula...'

'Well - she always was crazy smart. We shouldn't be surprised.'

'I - I tried ringing her a couple of times,' Cordelia said hesitantly. 'I haven't been able to get through. Do you think … do you think that means she's gone?'

Doyle hung his head, and watched his feet as they tramped along the passage. 'I hope not,' he said heavily. 'Maybe she's just been busy.'

'She was losing control.'

'I know… but we wouldn't have been here without her, wouldn't have found this place or been able to get through without Illyria's knowledge. And maybe today we can put an end to all this. So - if she has gone - then she was right. Her death mattered, her sacrifice really did mean somethin'.'

'It's still not enough, though,' Cordy's voice was sad and small. 'Still not fair.'

'I know.'

After they had walked some distance in contemplative silence, the air was suddenly rent by a crunching noise. A cracking sound that seemed to come out of nowhere and made them jump. 'what was that?' Cordelia looked around.

Doyle had squatted down close to the ground. 'I stood on somethin' hard,' he told her, 'it broke - crunched. It looks …' he picked it up to examine it. 'It looks like a bit of skull.'

'Dead body parts - great.'

'Maybe we can find the rest of them.' They took a few more steps, and then a gate suddenly loomed out of the gloom. It was like a grille - or a portcullis - made of bars that slammed downward from the top of the frame. It was closed - but there was a skeleton lying by it - sticking through it mostly, on their side of the grille. Though it's fibulas and tibias were at the other side. 'What happened?' Cordelia stared down at the bones.

'Looks like the gate impaled him right through his legs,' Doyle said.

'And then someone bashed his head in with a club,' She looked around at all the shattered pieces of skull which littered the ground. 'Looks like they were really pissed when they did it too - the distance some of these pieces have travelled - someone really went to town on him.'

'Well, let's hope he was a bad guy and move on.'

'Through a closed gate?'

But he only looked at her, until she realised what he wanted her to do. 'Oh come on!' she moaned, but he just carried on looking at her. With a snort of disgust and an irritated shake of her head, she squatted down and gripped the underside of the gate - and then she heaved with all her strength. Slowly - slowly it began to rise up, until it was high enough for Doyle to wriggle under. She carried on pushing it up until it was high enough off the ground that she could slip through the bars without letting go. 'OK this works … the abs … and the … glutes…' she grunted and then passed through to the other side, letting the gate fall to the ground again - smashing the bones of the skeleton once more. 'I'm gonna feel that for a week!' she complained.

Doyle gave her a swift kiss, 'but it was very impressive. Thanks, Princess - I couldn't have done it without y'.' She gave him a dark look.

* * *

Gunn met Lilah in the boardroom. 'You ready for this?' she asked him. He shrugged, 'as I'll ever be.'

'Well, I'll take lead. It shouldn't be too complicated - just a contract to go through. The terms are already drawn up. And then we'll need Angel to sign as a witness for the firm.'

'Great - I think I can handle it.'

She smiled her wolf's smile. 'I don't know why you don't just come clean. It would take a lot of weight off your shoulders. A lot of pressure. Leave the wheeling and dealing to the legal professionals and you can…'

'What - go back to hitting stuff? Just being the muscle? No thanks. I'm gonna learn my way around all this again. If I tell the others - they'll put me back in my box, pigeon hole me as the guy who does the fighting not the thinking. Besides … Angel has a lot on his plate right now, he doesn't need any added complications.'

Her smile grew wider. 'Is it concern for the big guy that stops you from telling him the truth? Or is that you don't trust him anymore?'

He glared at her, 'does it matter?'

She shrugged. 'Not to me. But it doesn't spell anything good for your little family.'

'As if you care about trouble in my family - or any part of it that isn't Wesley … speak of the devil.' The door opened and Wesley walked in. He handed back the file Gunn had given him that morning. 'I've put my notes in there,' he told them, 'everything I could uncover about the Fell Brethren, be careful - they do seem to be a bunch of particularly nasty buggers. There's a ritual of theirs - Gordabach - I suggest you look at it closely.'

'Thanks, man.'

Wesley nodded and left the room, briefly making eye contact with Lilah before he did. She smiled at him. He didn't smile back - but something flickered in the depths of his eyes. Gunn was already scanning through the watcher's meticulous notes. 'Man, this does look bad. I can't believe I used to enjoy this - making deals for a bunch of hideous, scaly, evil demons -'

There was another knock on the door, and a young, blonde and heavily pregnant woman walked in - looking a little nervous. 'Excuse me? I'm here about the demon pact.'

...

'They found me,' the woman explained to them, once they had sat her down and fetched her a glass of water, and started to get the bottom of how she fit into all this. Her belly was so massively round and swollen, she looked like she might give birth any moment. 'They said they had these seer people who told them my baby was some kind of holy one. They said it was a prophecy.'

Gunn looked down at the notes Wesley had made - and then up at this seemingly normal young woman. 'How much do you know about the Fell Brethren?' he asked her.

'Well, I know they're very religious … their religion not - you know -' she pointed to the ceiling, 'the God one. But they've been really supportive, they're always bringing me special shakes and vitamins.'

'Amanda - can I call you Amanda - you have noticed that these people are demons?' Lilah checked. .

Amanda nodded. 'They're really open about it.'

Gunn cleared his throat - he'd been practising this next sentence in his head for a few minutes now. He wanted to get it right, make it sound like he knew what he was talking about, make himself sound professional. 'Well, any demonic pact should be entered into with caution. They can be riddled with obscure clauses and double talk. As our client, we have to advise you -'

'She's not your client,' a deep male voice cut in. Gunn looked up. Three demons - green and scaly and a little lizard looking, wearing long black robes, were standing there. Their black eyes glittered dangerously. 'We are.'

* * *

Wesley walked back into his office. There was much he needed to do - researching the Fell Brethren had taken time from his working on a way to bring Fred back. And he knew he couldn't have much longer - not only was her personality seemingly lost for good inside Illyria - but her shell could not withstand that level of power for any great length of time.

He hadn't told Angel this- for a number of reasons, mistrust playing no small part among them - but it was likely Illyria would be destroyed within the next couple of days; her body's inability to contain such masses of power forcing her to go thermo-nuclear. He wasn't sure what the consequences of that would be. But nevertheless he had had to stop his own research to look into the brethren. Angel could not just be left to deal with demons of that calibre in his own way - not any more. Wesley had too much on his plate.

He walked through the door - and came to a stop. That strange, blue figure was standing there. In his space. In the room where she had wrapped her arms around him and kissed him … she was just standing there. Looking like her. It was more than his heart could bear. 'Illyria … is there something I can do for you?'

'It's odd.'

He swallowed - and forced himself to answer, to talk normally - though this hurt him more than he thought it should be possible to hurt and still live. 'What's odd?'

'It doesn't exist until it cracks apart.'

'What?'

'Time.'

He stared at her. She was … strange. More so than usual. Her expression - usually so blank - was pained. He felt a lurch in his stomach as he realised how close to the end she must be, how soon her destruction must come. He wasn't ready yet. And if it came before he was ready - then Illyria's end would be Fred's as well. 'You don't look all together well,' he told her, trying not to let his worry show.

'Your opinion of me weighs less than sunlight.' She suddenly doubled over in pain - crying out - and knocked a glass of water to the floor. When she straightened up she was standing in the middle of the training room. Wesley was there - he held some form of gun. 'Illyria,' he shouted.

'Wes - do it now!' she turned. The vampire - Angel - was there too. Wesley aimed his weapon at her, and she doubled over in pain and screamed out once again.

This time when she stood up, Wesley was gone. She stood in the door to the observation area, gasping, and both the vampires were inside. Talking. The white haired one - the funny one - her pet, Spike, looked at her. 'That's right, little Shiva. I reckon you'll think twice next time.'

* * *

Cordelia and Doyle made it to the end of the corridor - and found themselves out on a galleyway, looking down at what looked like an iron works below. Fires burned. There were great vats of molten metal bubbling away and red sparks flew through the thick and smoky air. There was the sound of hammer blows and the pounding of metal on anvils. Demons - the same species as The Scourge and wearing a similar uniform - thrashed at chained humans with whips.

The humans worked at the anvils, wielding their sledgehammers- though never thinking to use them against their captors. Or they pushed wheelbarrows through the smoke from place to place. They were followed everywhere by their guards, swinging their whips. Some of the humans were young - some were old. Some coughed as they worked, or struggled to lift their tools with their frail and withered arms, Disease was rife amongst them, as well as old age - but still they worked. Too afraid, too beaten down to stop.

This was the world of The Scourge - and this was the workshop where they forged their beacons. A factory floor in the very depths of hell … and it stretched as far as the eye could see.


	75. Time Bomb: Part Two

_Part Two_

Illyria stared at the two vampires, confused and pained - the white haired one still grinned at her. The ludicrous halfbreed thought _it_ was the cause of her pain. As if a creature so insignificant - a mote of dust - could harm her. It offended her that it thought so - even as she shuddered with the pains wracking through her body.

'Good knee to the ribs does tend to catch up with you, doesn't it?' Spike said to her. She clutched her midsection and cried out - and when she looked up again, she was back in Wesley's office. The glass of water had just fallen to the floor.

'Illyria?'

She heard the concern in his voice and whipped round to stare at him. He had pointed a weapon at her, he didn't have it now, but he had dared - somehow, somewhere - to point his strange device at her. He intended her harm. Just like he had when he had pointed his gun at her in her temple. This one was to be watched. He was the betrayer in the group - she knew that from Fred's memories. 'You tried to murder me,' she accused. She grabbed him by the collar and hurled him across the room, smashing him into the window. 'Again!' she kicked the desk so it smashed right into him. Behind him, the window cracked - a great fault line running down the necrotempered pane.

'What?' he lay on the floor and blinked up at her, not understanding. 'I haven't…' he got back to his feet and tried to get his breath back. Then he made his voice calmer. 'I don't want you dead - believe me…'

'I was there - I saw it…' She turned and stormed from the room. Wesley stared after her, he was unsure what was happening but … from what he could guess, his heart was filled with dread. He needed to get back to the lab. Illyria was falling apart - and if he did nothing to stop her, she would pull Fred apart with her.

* * *

Cordelia and Doyle kept themselves hidden in the shadows. They were still up on the gangway, looking down. They lay on the metal platform, on their fronts, and peered over the edge to try and get as clear a view as possible. Not that a clear view was possible. The air was thick with the smoke which belched out from the vats of molten metal, choking all of the oxygen from the air and pressing against them - clinging to their hair and skin and sticking inside their lungs. It was like trying to peer through a swirling fog on a pitch black night.

They were trying to work out what the pattern was to what they were seeing - if there was a rhyme or reason to the comings and goings of the humans and the demons that populated the hellscape. If they could just work it out then they could maybe cross the factory floor without being spotted but … there didn't seem to be any system they could figure out. People worked at a thousand cross purposes; toing and froing, fetching and carrying, back and forth across the floor at any given moment. There was order down there - that was implemented by the demon guards and their whips - but there was no visible structure to what everyone did. It was not a dance of complicated steps, to be navigated, so much as it was a frenetic, chaotic mess of activity. Their chances of not being seen - once they were down there - seemed slim.

And that would be a problem. Cordelia glanced sidewards at Doyle. Sure - the humidity of the place had made his hair frizz on end and brought a flush to his cheeks and a sheen to his brow. And the smoke and soot were clinging to him - already dirtying him, smudged across his hands and face … she doubted she looked any better. But nevertheless - their clothes marked them out as not belonging here. Everyone down there wore a burlap sack as their only covering. If any of the guards caught sight of the two of them - they would know instantly they were intruders. And whilst she figured a fight was all but inevitable, she would rather put it off as long as she could. Stealth would prove to be the better part of valour down here.

'Stay here, keep low,' she hissed at her boyfriend. He looked at her, 'what are you gonna do?' But she just raised a finger to her lips. As two humans came close to the gangway, walking beneath it, she flipped herself over the side - silently dropping to the ground. Doyle peered over the ledge down at her and sighed. Cordy's powers did come in useful - but sometimes he did get rather left behind.

There was the sound of two loud thumps - and a squawk - and then silence. And then Cordelia was shinning back up the ladder - with something folded over her arm. 'Here - put this on,' she said, holding out what turned out to be a burlap sack. He took it from her and began to take off his jacket and pants - as she likewise stripped off her outer layer of clothes. 'Did you just knock out some poor, enslaved humans and strip 'em so we could wear their sacks?' He asked her, suspiciously.

'Yes.'

'...Did they look like they had a disease?'

She shook her head. 'It was dark - I couldn't see. I hope not.'

'Great - well if I get scabies …'

'You can blame me.'

He finished stripping and pulled the sack on over his head, staring down at it. 'What's with alternate dimensions and puttin' humans in burlap anyway? I haven't worn one o' these since Pylea.' At least he got to keep his underwear on this time. It was amazing how much difference having underwear on made - how much less vulnerable he felt. Even though this place was ten times the hell Pylea had been.

Once they were finished dressing in their disguise, they folded their own clothes neatly and put them in a pile out of the way - hidden deep in the shadows so no guard would happen across them. Then they clambered down the ladder - the metal, heated by the fires around it, burned their bare feet as they climbed. And then they were down on the ground - surrounded by the hell of the place. The smoke was even thicker down here, the air stifling and oppressive.

Doyle took hold of Cordelia's hand, not wanting to get separated. 'Just keep your head down,' he told her, 'look busy and try to avoid the guards,' and together, they started to make their way through The Scourge's factory, searching for their goal.

* * *

Lorne was lurking behind a pot plant, his hat pulled down low to meet his shades. As Illyria stormed out of Wesley's office and out into the lobby, he fumbled with his walkie talkie, pressed the switch and began to hiss into it. 'Bluebird is in flight.' He scurried out from behind his plant and began to follow her.

...

Harmony was standing in the middle of the Lobby, Lorne skirted round her, but she barely even noticed him. She was busy talking to the Fell Brethren - trying to keep them calm. They were not happy.

Gunn had refused to speak with them and was instead in the boardroom talking with Amanda, Angel was nowhere to be seen and the anger of the Fell at being treated this way by their own lawyers was intense. They had no idea what Gunn was saying to Amanda - and as far as they were concerned he had no business and no right speaking with her. He was there to represent them, not her, and it worried them what this _human_ might be saying. What poison it would be spilling into the vessel's ear, how it might work on her to change her mind. The Fell could not allow her mind to be changed.

'He'll just be a few more minutes,' Harmony tried to smooth things over. 'In the meantime can I go ahead and grab you anything to drink? Coffee? Tea? Got blood...'

But the Fell were more interested in what was happening in the boardroom. 'What is he doing in there with the holy vessel?' the leader demanded.

'Plus a variety of organic colas,' Harmony finished up - ignoring the question. The truth was she didn't know the answer. But for some reason Gunn was not starting the meeting - maybe it was because Angel was still MIA. Maybe it was something else.

'The Brethren have a delicate relationship with the vessel,' the leader explained to her, ignoring her conversation about drinks as steadfastly as she had ignored their's about the meeting. 'If she's presenting any problems we should be the ones to -'

'I'm sure it's all fine,' Harmony interrupted. 'Gunn's in there right now - getting into her head, sowing the seeds of fear. By the time Angel gets back to the office she'll be ready to be snapped like a pregnant twig.'

The Brethren listened to what she had to say, and then huddled together - talking in a low murmur - where she couldn't quite make out what they were saying. They put their heads together and it all sounded very serious, though. She stood there and waited nervously - awaiting the outcome. And then the leader turned back to her - conclusion reached, decision made. 'We'll try an organic cola,' he said.

* * *

Gunn leaned his elbows on the table - the contract was spread out in front of him, though he had barely looked at it - there didn't seem much point. 'Are you sure you really want to do this, Amanda?' he asked the pregnant woman, 'because contracts usually have some wiggle room in them - it's not too late.'

'Actually,' Lilah pulled the file over so she could see it better and scanned through, 'this one's sewn up pretty tight.'

He glanced at her, annoyed. 'And yet I _know_ you could find a loophole if we needed to.'

She grinned her wolf's grin. 'Oh of course - _I_ could.'

He turned back to Amanda, 'see? There's no need to go through with this. If you don't sign they've got no hold over you. You can still keep your baby.'

Amanda bit her lip, her eyes were worried. 'But - um - aren't you the guys who are supposed to tell me to sign?'

'Yes we are,' Lilah said. Gunn flashed her another annoyed glance. 'But we're also the people who wanna look out for you and protect you and your baby. Help you do what's right.'

'That's not actually in our remit,' Lilah pointed out.

'She gets that part for free,' Gunn replied, through gritted teeth.

Amanda sighed, her hands held her bump - and she ran them across it - caressing and protective. She looked down. 'Listen, I've had this talk before, believe me. I know it sounds bad giving up your baby to a supernatural cult but …' She looked back up at them, and her face was now determined. 'See … their entire nation believes that my child is their next, you know, like the Dalai Lama. They're gonna worship him. He'll be cared for better than we could ever. And he'll be someone, somebody important. We'd never be able to give him that.'

Gunn shook his head ever so slightly - and when he spoke his voice had a warning edge to it. 'Amanda, the Fell Brethren leader makes Jim Jones look like a Sunday school teacher.' He had read Wes' notes - they didn't make for comfortable reading. But his words fell on uncomprehending ears. 'Who's Jim Jones?'

Lilah rolled her eyes, 'what my colleague is trying to say is that a cult leader is not always what they seem, and a demon cult leader is another level added on. However we at Wolfram and Hart don't judge and will respect your decision totally to give up your first born if that is what you think is best.'

'But we still strongly advise -' Gunn started to say, his voice getting heated. But he was cut off by Amanda. There were tears in her eyes now. 'Mr. Gunn - we can't afford this baby. My husband, he was hurt at work. Brain damaged, doctor's say - incurable. We're scraping by on food stamps and disability. But the Brethren … they say they can make him whole again, make him…' her lower lip trembled and the tears started to fall. 'Make him remember who I am. I mean, how does a person turn all that down?'

Gunn's hand had clenched into a fist as she spoke. He was looking down, his eyes cast low and - as she finished up - he felt sick, heart weary and sick. This wasn't right. None of it. Not her situation and not her only way out of it. These choices weren't fair and he - he couldn't sit back and watch them be made. Couldn't take the hurt to his heart that hearing this woman's story had caused. He closed the file, pushed his chair back away from the table, and walked out of the room, into Angel's office.

Lilah watched him go. She smiled at Amanda apologetically. 'Poor thing still has a conscience,' she explained. 'I hear they can be very troublesome - excuse me…' She followed him out.

He was standing by the window - staring out, as the light streamed in around him. 'I can't do this,' he said, when he heard her enter and shut the door. 'I used to think we were making a difference, doing some good. I thought we could get this place to change.'

'And all it's done is change you.'

He shook his head, 'not enough. Not enough to sign a baby over to a demon cult. That mother, I get why she's doin' it - I get she isn't a bad person, she's a desperate one. I get she has nothing to offer her kid - I come from that. I get it. But it's still not enough that I can make it happen - and still sleep at night. We don't do good here. At best, we compromise. At worst …' he left that hanging. 'Everything here is just so…'

'Grey?' Lilah suggested. But he shook his head again. '_Beige,'_ he corrected her.

* * *

As Angel travelled up the floors in the elevator - from the carpool to the lobby - his walkie talkie suddenly sprang into life. It crackled and then Lorne's voice sounded over the airwaves, he did not sound too happy. 'Angel ears - this is secret demon - come in - do you copy?'

He stared at it, trying to work out how to answer - when the bell rang and the door slid open to reveal a lobby full of Fell Brethren who had finished their organic colas and were not getting any calmer about being made to wait. Harmony looked flustered. 'Boss!' she cried out, when she saw, 'boy am I glad to see you - the Brethren are tired of waiting and the sugar rush is not helping…'

Angel switched his walkie talkie off and dropped it into his pocket. 'What are they waiting for?' he asked.

'Gunn wanted to speak with the pregnant lady in private.'

Angel understood - he did. He knew how hard this case was, but he also knew what needed to be done. And Gunn's conscience couldn't get in the way of it. So he fixed on his biggest and most confident smile and approached the leader of the Brethren, clapping him on the shoulder and holding his hand out to shake. 'Hi - I'm Angel, CEO of Wolfram and Hart. I'm so sorry about the wait - would you like to come through now?'

'Your people have been talking to the holy vessel,' the leader said, his voice laced with suspicion. But Angel only laughed, disarmingly. 'Well they're thorough - that's the Wolfram and Hart way. But now they've got everything they need and we are ready to take care of you and your needs.'

'If there is a problem with the holy vessel …'

'No problem - and if there is, we'll fix it. Making sure you get what you want is our top priority. I'm sure I don't have to tell you just how valued you and your Brethren are as clients.'

'I'm sure you don't.' There was an ominous edge to that sentence, but Angel just laughed it off and ushered them through into the boardroom. Gunn wasn't in there - and Angel found him still in the vampire's office. 'It's time,' Angel said - opening the adjoining door to the conference room. Gunn looked like he was about to argue, but Angel shook his head. '_Now.'_

* * *

Wesley was up in the lab. He had a laptop open and was watching a blue blinking dot on the screen. The dot was Illyria - as she moved through the building - and if the low emanation scanner readouts were correct then he had only hours - if that - before she blew.

He had come here as soon as she had stormed out of his office. The strain on her face, her cries of pain, her confusion - all told him she was unravelling at an alarming rate. And now the science backed up his theory. The fusion between her demon essence and Fred's body was deteriorating. She was overloading and would self destruct, violently - and soon.

But it was even worse than he feared. He had always known that Fred's body could not handle such intense power, had always known it would destroy her completely. But - from the look of the radiation she was leaking, when she went thermo-nuclear it would not just be Fred's shell that was destroyed. It would be the entire building - maybe the entire city - maybe … well, he didn't want to get ahead of himself. Suffice it to say, he needed to sort this and he needed to sort it fast.

Leaving the computer open, so he could track Illyria's progress, he took out his gun and began to make the final adjustments. But he feared it would be too late. What he was attempting was too technical - required more expertise than his own. It required Fred. Perhaps he should start evacuating the building - though that still may not be enough. If he couldn't work this then hundreds, maybe thousands - maybe millions of people would die. And he would have let down Fred. He would have let her die. Wasting all that time, drinking in his office - when he should have been here, fighting for her. He needed to sort this.

He put his head in his hands - this was too big - this was too much. To achieve the impossible… he took a deep breath. And when he looked up he found himself staring at Fred's scribblings on her whiteboard and window. The last things she'd written before she had lost herself entirely inside Illyria. The last message she had scrawled out to the world before she had succumbed to the God King's unparalleled strength .

It was a set of equations and … he peered at them, if he wasn't mistaken they were all linked - all working together to one goal. Written down with one purpose in mind. He followed them along, starting at the left edge of her board and working his way across to her window. It was complicated but … he thought maybe he could follow along. Her writing got larger and messier the further right he read - and at first he thought it was a sign she had been losing control, giving in to Illyria's infection, but then he realised he was mistaken. The scrawl was not a sign of her growing loss of consciousness - but a sign of her growing excitement, as she neared the end - as she found her conclusion, solved her equation. He moved further along the window, his heart beating faster now - imagining hers beating likewise as she puzzled her way towards the end, sensing it was in sight. And then he found it - circled about fifty times and then underlined. The answer. And underneath - now in tiny letters as she had run out of room - was written 'opens a portal'.

This was an equation that would make interdimensional travel possible to all people. And Fred had figured it out, the science behind opening a portal. He glanced across at his mystical-techno creation. If he used what she had written, used her formula to alter the technical side of his weapon - then it might work after all. He could use the gun to open a portal to extra dimensional space. And when he siphoned the power from Fred's shell … he could send it into this other realm, making this dimension safe. She had given him the answer. Even lost inside the consciousness of an ancient god, Fred had found a way to save herself. Left a trail of breadcrumbs for Wesley to follow.

'Fred you are perfect,' he muttered under his breath. He moved back across to the bench and began to make the changes to his gun. 'You are _brilliant_.'

'What are you doing here, Percy?'

He looked up, 'Spike -' he said, for it was indeed the blonde vampire, standing in the doorway, watching him.

'I thought you watcher types liked to stay in your cosy little libraries surrounded by leather bound books and well aged scotch. What brings you up to the futuristic, dystopian science section of this little mystical law firm?'

He had been keeping his work a secret. Not telling anyone in case he failed. But now - there was only hours, maybe minutes, left until his failure would result in a giant, smoking crater where Wolfram and Hart used to be. Secrecy was no longer an option. And he needed to track Illyria and finish his gun. It would be easier if he didn't have to do both by himself. 'We have a problem,' he told the vampire. 'I need your help.'

* * *

Illyria marched down the hallway. Lorne trailed after her, gabbling into his walkie talkie. 'I repeat, bluebird got wise. Secret Demon's cover is blown. Over. hel - hello? Is this on?' He shook the radio in annoyance, nothing happened. No answering voice came over the airwaves telling him what to do next.

He shoved the walkie talkie into his pocket and ran a couple of steps to catch up with Illyria. 'Hey, Leery,' he said to her, 'when did you catch on to me? In the elevator? That was a tough one.'

Illyria did not slow down her pace. 'The vampire plays child's games,' she said, in a voice laden with impatience. Lorne sighed - didn't he just know it! 'Well, tag you're it, honey.'

* * *

Still holding hands, lest they get separated, Cordelia and Doyle joined the end of a line of humans trudging their way across the factory floor. A guard led the way - and occasionally turned round and cracked his whip. The humans were all hunched over, heads hanging low, cowering beneath the lash … Cordy and Doyle stayed right at the back, but copied their mannerisms as best they could. So far - no one seemed to have spotted that they were intruders.

As the line passed a shadowy, quiet spot - Doyle began to hang back, pulling Cordelia with him. The enslaved humans trudged forward, and the two of them took a few steps back - letting the space open up slowly … slowly … and then they dashed into the darkened alcove and hid.

'Now what?' Cordelia hissed.

Doyle peered out - watching the humans working the metal at their anvils, wielding their sledgehammers. Further away, two slaves tipped a vat between them, allowing the molten metal inside to flow out … it was caught in a mould. 'Look at 'em all,' he nodded out at the workers, 'there's no way all this activity is just for makin' one or two - this is mass production.'

'Of the beacons?' she asked. He nodded. 'Maybe some other stuff as well but - on the whole - this whole place is a workshop to build beacons. Lots o' them.'

'And then they must store them somewhere.'

He nodded again, still peering out so he could watch what the slaves were doing. 'I'm thinkin' they keep 'em somewhere close - safe.'

'We need to find them. But this place … it's huge. We can't just Nancy Drew around here forever. We gotta work out where they'll be.'

'Yeah…' he craned his neck to get a better view out, and frowned. He watched as the humans tipped another vat over, pouring the metal into another mould. A little further over - some more slaves were putting some of the already moulded metal into wheelbarrows. They pushed it away, taking it over to an anvil - where yet another human took the first bar of metal out and began to strike at it with his hammer. At a different anvil, another blacksmith had finished with the bars he'd been given and was loading them back into a wheelbarrow. This was then collected and pushed deeper into the factory.

'I know it looks like… madness out there,' Doyle said, carefully. 'But you think maybe there's method to it? You think maybe it's a production line?'

'What - you think they start work at one end and it carries across right to the other?'

'Well … it's just a theory, but … if they're assemblin' beacons then there must be some order to the way they do it, yeah? I'm not sayin' they got one of those handy Ikea flat pack instruction books but … they must have to put everythin' together in the same order every time, right? So the finished product must end up in roughly the same place … and I'm guessin', once a beacon's built, The Scourge don't wanna have to transport it too far. I bet the storage area isn't far away from the end o' the assembly line.'

'So we just follow a bit of itty bitty beacon right the way until it becomes a full sized beacon and - we should find them all?'

He nodded, 'that's what I reckon.' He pointed at a wheelbarrow being pushed away from an anvil, stocked full of newly hammered metal bars. 'We follow those guys, find out where they go - when we get there, we watch to see what happens next. Just follow along - stage by stage 'til we get to the end.'

'OK - but remember to keep your head down. And don't stand up too straight - we don't wanna stand out in this crowd.'

They stepped out from their alcove - but before they had gone more than two paces, Cordelia squealed and grabbed hold of Doyle, pulling him back into the recess. 'Look out!' she shoved him to the side. He staggered slightly and then stared at her, 'what?'

For her answer she merely pointed at the floor - where a jagged scrap of red hot metal lay discarded, sharp end pointing up - exactly where his foot had been about to land. 'You nearly stood on that.' Doyle swore, and took another step back. It would have gone straight through his foot. Not only would it have been agonisingly painful - but it would have meant the end of everything. No way could he have continued the mission with him unable to walk, and they would have been very lucky if Cordelia managed to get him back to the portal, injured, without them being discovered.

'Why did we have to take our shoes off anyway?' Doyle complained, still looking a bit shaken at his near miss. 'Seems kinda dangerous.'

But Cordelia shook her head. 'No way - it would have been much more dangerous to wear them. Remember when I got arrested in Pylea - for high treason or whatever?'

He nodded his head, he wasn't likely to ever forget the terror of hearing Cordelia had been locked up to use as a pawn in making him perform the com-shuk… whatever that was. But he didn't know what it had to do with where they were today.

'Those demons couldn't tell humans apart. Silas only realised I wasn't the consort in the throne room because Godzilla still had her collar on.'

'Marelda,' Doyle corrected.

'Whatever - and he only knew which of the other cow trash was the real me because I _didn't _have a collar on. The little details are important, Doyle. Everyone here is bare foot, we come in here in shoes and we might as well carry a neon flashing sign to alert The Scourge we're here to cause trouble. Besides … _your_ shoes paired with a burlap sack? That would be a terrible look.'

Even in the middle of hell, he couldn't stop himself from smiling. 'What about your shoes?'

'Oh honey, please, my shoes look great with everything... Now, eyes on the floor - for real this time.' And, hand in hand and with eyes cast low, they scurried across to where the wheelbarrows were leaving the anvils - and followed them to the next stage in the production line.

* * *

Angel, Gunn and Lilah came through the adjoining doors into the boardroom just as the leader of the Fell Brethren clapped eyes on Amanda. 'Amanda,' he said - his voice deep and foreboding - and then his scaly lizard face suddenly lit up in a smile. 'You look wonderful! Huh? Huh?' He turned to his brothers for support and then switched his attention back to her. 'So full of life - so how's our little oven bun? Still kicking up a storm I hope. Third trimester. Any more pressure? Shortness of breath?' Amanda nodded, but the demon didn't seem overly concerned about her symptoms. 'Well that's to be expected,' he told her, comfortingly. 'Are you taking the black cohosh we sent?' She nodded again. 'Lovely. Bipmep cut some articles out of this month's "Fit Pregnancy" we'll send them along.'

'Can we get started?' Angel said, walking round the table and taking his seat. The Brethren sat down across from him - sitting either side of Amanda. Lilah came to sit next to Angel and reluctantly, Gunn followed. He pulled the file over to look over whilst the meeting went on … he didn't want to hear this, didn't want to be a part of it. Any distraction would do.

Lilah handed the contracts over and the demon leader started to sign. 'Lovely, lovely …' he muttered to himself - turning the pages over and signing again. 'There and there…'

Meanwhile, Gunn had read something in the contract that was making him frown. Wes had said something about … he pulled Wesly's notes out and flipped through them as well until he found what he was looking for.

'And done,' the demon said. He pushed the contract over to Amanda and handed her the pen. 'There you go, Amanda.' She took it.

'Wait a minute,' Gunn interrupted - just as she held the pen poised to sign on the dotted line. He'd found the word he was searching for - found its meaning. 'Gordabach?' he said.

The leader of the Frell Brethren laughed nervously. 'Yes … Gordabach.' He tried to make it sound like it was unimportant - like it was nothing. 'Just sign right there, mom,' he tapped the contract.

But Gunn was looking back at the clause he had just found. 'No hang on - I wanna check I'm understanding this right. "The child will be pampered, worshipped and fed a holy diet of berries, panda meat and urine"…'

Amanda glanced at the demon leader. 'Well it's consecrated urine,' he told her. But Gunn was still reading. 'And on the eve of his 13th birthday, he will be prepared for the rites of Gordabach.'

Amanda looked confused. 'That's what, like a Bar Mitzvah?'

'Well there'll be gifts,' the demon muttered.

'Amanda - it's a ritual sacrifice,' Gunn told her. A nasty one too - according to Wesley's notes. But before he had finished speaking, the leader of the Fell Brethren had slammed both hands down on the table. 'Who's lawyer are you?' he roared.

And then the door banged open and Illyria stormed in - yelling at Angel. 'You will speak to me!'

'In the middle of something,' he snapped at her.

'Then I will end it.'

'Yeah OK,' he got to his feet. The demon had likewise stood up, 'who's this?' he asked, but Angel fixed on his smarmiest smile. 'I'm very sorry for the interruption - please know you are my priority and I will be back to get you what you want as soon as this is dealt with.'

Gunn shot him a disbelieving look. 'Angel, man...' But Angel ignored him and spoke, instead to Illyria. 'Come with me,' and he led her out of the room.

...

Lorne was standing just outside the conference room door - as Illyria stormed out of it and Angel followed her. The demon was yelling into his walkie talkie, 'well do you copy, ever?' and then he spotted his boss, pocketed the radio and ran after him. 'Hey - is your thingy even on?' Then he spotted Illyria as well, 'oh - I'll just wait here, then.' He fell back.

Angel pulled Illyria into a secluded spot in the hallway, where they were unlikely to be overheard, and then rounded on her. 'You don't interrupt our work! Understand me?'

But Illyria was uninterested in his priorities - and had priorities of her own. 'What is it?' she demanded. 'Poison? Magicks? It impresses me the power of it. Whatever you've done, it can't save you. To do anything but bow to my will is absurd - and yet you conspire to…' but the pain overtook her again and she cried out, doubling over and gripping her head.

'We haven't done anything to you.'

She got a hold of herself and straightened up, glowering at the vampire. 'Jealous. Plankton envying the ocean that holds them.'

Angel sighed, 'yeah - that's great. Listen - I got things,' he started to walk away. But she grabbed him back and hoiked him up into the air by his collar, slamming him against the wall. 'Ridiculous apes. My death won't prevent you dying. What have you done to me?'

'Get your damn hands off me!' he snapped. She dropped him to the floor, realising something. 'You do not know, not yet.' She turned from him and began to walk away down the corridor. 'It's too early.'

...

Seeing her leave, Lorne came up to stand beside Angel. 'Psst. you gotta keep your thingy on for this to work, OK?' Angel glanced at him - and then pulled his hat off and dumped it into the demon's hands. 'Oh that's mature,' Lorne retorted to his retreating back.

As he got back to the lobby, Angel was intercepted by Harmony - telling him it was getting very shouty in his office. But he shook his head, there was something bigger he needed to do - though it was linked, and this one made his heart hurt more than he could bear. 'Let Gunn deal with it,' he snapped.

* * *

Angel stormed into the lab - finding Wesley and Spike there, working away at something. 'We got a problem,' he told them, 'Illyria's blowing a gasket, she's outta of her mind.'

How can you tell?' Spike asked him, not even looking up from the laptop he was working on, 'yesterday she spent two hours mind melding with a potted fern.'

'Well something's going on with her. She's dangerous and out of control. Wesley-' he looked at the watcher, 'I know you don't wanna hear this, but I'm making an executive decision. We've got to put her down.'

Wesley didn't outwardly react, though a slight tremor did pass across his face. 'You want us to kill Fred?'

'Not Fred. Illyria,' Angel corrected him. 'Fred's gone - long gone. And what's left - I can't have it hanging around here - getting in the way of…'

'Your bottom line?' Wesley suggested, though his voice was neutral. Angel nodded. 'Yeah. Among other things. Just - tell me you have something. Anything.'

'It's like I told you, she's deteriorating. Overloading to be more precise. Her human shell can no longer contain the demonic power within.'

Spike nodded along, still watching the screen of his laptop. 'We're thinking she cracked her engine block and now she's leaking petrol all over the building.'

'She's going to self-destruct,' Wesley said, 'violently and soon.'

Angel stared between them. This was - he had to make the call to kill Illyria - to destroy whatever was left of Fred, it was the only way he could get noticed by the Circle of the Black Thorn. But this - she was going to die anyway - it felt like maybe The Powers were trying to make it easier for him. He'd give the order, sign the warrant, but it was an inevitability anyway - nothing could be done to save her. 'When were you gonna tell me this?' he asked.

'I wasn't - Spike and I were dealing with it.'

'We're motivated go-getters,' Spike grinned.

'The good news is, the crack in her engine block may give us a chance to get to her.' Wesley picked up his gun, 'I've been working on this. For a while now - using Fred's own notes. It creates a pinhole to an infinite extra dimensional space. A negatively charged pocket universe, that should draw her radiant essence, her power, into itself and -'

'Wes,' Angel interrupted, 'will it kill her?'

Wesley stared at him for a moment. He didn't even know this man anymore. 'Yes,' he answered, shortly and then turned to Spike. 'Shall we go?'

Spike grabbed the laptop, turning it so the others could see the screen. 'Training room, looks like,' he told them - the flashing blue dot showing where Illyria was located. 'And gushing petrol like a geyser.'

* * *

Keeping their heads low and their hands holding onto each other tight, Cordy and Doyle had followed a wheelbarrow filled with hammered metal bars over to a construction station - where the bars were all taken out and welded together into the exoskeleton of a massive beacon. Sparks flew into the air - shining in the dark like fireflies. The whine of drills rent the air and mingled with the deafening sound of the hammer blows. Further away, an already finished metal structure was being pushed away on rollers and - with a glance at each other - they dashed after it.

It was taken to a workstation where slaves in their burlap sacks were fitting the lightbulbs into place and working on wiring it all together. These must have been made in a part of this huge factory floor that the two of them had not seen - but all the pieces were coming together now.

A fully wired beacon, still on its rollers, was being pushed away - and once again the two of them followed it onto the next part of the production line. They ran past massive furnaces, and men moving back and forth with blow pipes, making glass cylinders - keeping the glass at the intense heat level needed to stop it from cracking. It was so hot in here that Doyle could feel the sweat dripping from his brow and running into his eyes. His lips were dry and cracked and his tongue felt swollen and fuzzy with lack of moisture. He didn't know how these slaves didn't fall down dead from heat exhaustion and dehydration.

They snuck round the furnace where the glass cylinders were being flattened and then past where the finished sheets were being cut to the right size. And then - up ahead of them - they could see where the metal structure of the beacon was having the glass panes added to it, the finishing touches, trapping the bulb inside.

The finished product was then taken away from the humans by some of the guards - and they pushed it towards a closed set of double doors. 'What do you think happens now?' Cordelia hissed.

'Let's find out.'

They snuck after the guards, keeping low and sticking to the shadows. The guards disappeared behind the closed door and then a moment later reappeared in the factory, this time sans beacon. 'Is that where they're stored?' Cordelia asked. But Doyle shook his head, 'only if they just toss 'em into storage any old how. Come on.' They crept across to the closed doors and then eased them open - just a crack - peering in.

There were more of The Scourge, about four of them, in there - though these ones wore long red robes, with hoods pulled over their faces, rather than the usual uniform. One held up a large, carved wooden staff. The others held their hands up - palms facing the beacon that had just been delivered to them. They were chanting. 'This must be where they put the magic into them,' Doyle whispered, 'the humans can't do that bit.' He nodded across to the opposite end of the room - where there was another set of double doors. 'And then that's where they stored the finished product, I'm thinkin' - but how do we get there past these guys?'

Cordelia looked around. 'Wait here,' she told him and then disappeared from his side. He stared after her wondering what she was up to. She returned a minute later carrying a sledgehammer in one hand and a blow pipe with a red hot blob of glass on the end in the other. She handed him the blow pipe. 'Back me up - but don't do anything stupid, OK?'

'What are you gonna do?' he stared at her.

'My job. Come on.'

* * *

Wesley led the two vampires down the hallway towards the training room. His weapon - his own creation, was held in his arms. 'So what sort of damage are we looking at if Illyria Chernobyls on us?' Spike asked him.

'Conservative guess? Several city blocks.'

'And what about unconservative?'

'Then Rand and McNally will have to redraw their maps.' He walked into the training room, Lorne was stood outside the door - still incognito. 'Is she in there?' Angel asked him. But Lorne didn't answer that - he just held up the walkie talkie, 'you even know how to use this thing?' He followed the other three into the room, then came to a stop and frowned. Beyond themselves, it appeared to be empty. 'That's funny, I didn't even see her leave.'

Spike shrugged. 'Well that's the problem, you only see her when ...' he exploded in a cloud of dust, his ashes falling to the floor revealing Illyria stood behind him - looking murderous. Then she bent double, clutched her stomach and cried out in pain again.

'Wes do it now!' Angel yelled. Wesley raised his gun - but Illyria had straightened up. She charged at Angel and kicked him in the face, sending him flying across the room. Then she grabbed a dagger from the wall and hurled it at Wesley. It dug straight into his chest and he fell to the ground - dead. She didn't even use a weapon on Lorne - just punching straight through his chest with her fist and then leaving him to fall.

Angel got back to his feet, vamped out and launched himself at Illyria. She grabbed a battle axe from the wall and swung it at him, slicing clean through his neck. Like Spike had done - he exploded into a cloud of dust, his ashes drifting to the floor. Illyria held her battle axe in her hand, looking around at her handiwork - the two dead bodies and the two piles of ash … she smiled.


	76. Time Bomb: Part Three

_Part Three_

The door slammed shut behind the two of them. The heads' of The Scourge priests all twisted to look. 'Humans may not enter here,' the one holding the staff, growled. He sounded outraged; offended and disgusted by their presence. 'Kill them,' he snarled at the others.

They all ran straight at them. Cordelia hefted her sledgehammer and swung it with all her might at the head of the first priest. It connected with a sickening crunch, and the demon dropped to the floor. She kicked the second, sending him flying and then raised her hammer high above her head in order to bring it down on the priest's skull, now it was downed. Meanwhile, Doyle smashed the burning hot glass end of his blowpipe over the third priest's head. It howled in agony as the scalding glass shattered on its skull, and Doyle took that moment to smack what was left of his blow pipe into the priest's stomach.

The priest doubled over, and Doyle smacked it over the back of the head - felling it to the floor. And then Cordelia came back and finished it off with her sledge hammer. The remaining priest stared at them - and even under the leathery texture of his skin it was clear to see that he was worried - frightened even. 'You do not belong here,' he said. 'You are not slaves. You are intruders...' He began to back away as Cordelia - hammer in hand and danger in her eyes - walked towards him.

She stopped at the beacon, though, and, with a grunt, hoisted her sledgehammer back and then swung it with all her might. The glass pane smashed, crashing to the ground in a thousand crystalline fragments. And she swung her hammer again and took out the bulb in the same way.

'You have no right,' the priest gibbered - still moving backwards. Careful of the broken glass and wary of their bare feet, both Doyle and Cordy moved in on him, cornering him. The priest raised his staff in an attempt to strike out at them but Doyle was quicker, and he used his long blow pipe to knock the staff from the demon's hands. Before it had even landed on the ground, Cordelia had swung her sledgehammer and felled the final priest. 'I knew these robe guys would be no good at fighting,' she said.

She picked up the fallen staff and wedged it between the handles of the doors leading out to the factory, 'in case anyone tries to disturb us,' she explained.

'Good thinkin', Princess.'

She checked to make sure her improvised lock was secure and then, together, they headed toward the far set of doors - pushed them open and walked into the chamber where the beacons were held.

* * *

Lorne and Wesley were dead - lying still on the floor, where she had left them. There was nothing of Spike and Angel but dust - nothing that remained but their stale ash. The halfbreeds had been barely in this world as it was, walking dead men, their bodies should have long since been reduced to bone and dust - and now they were. It was as it should be. Illyria smiled. But then the pain took her again - searing and dreadful - ripping into her like a thousand burning knives, the jaws of a monster tearing her flesh in two. She screamed.

And when she was herself again, she was no longer in the training room. She was back in the hallway. The vampire stood there - whole once more - like she had never killed him.

'We haven't done anything to you,' he snapped at her.

'Jealous. Plankton envying the ocean that holds them.' She had said these words before, been in this place.

'Yeah that's great - listen I got things-' he pushed past her, but she already knew he was going to do that. Had seen this before. Her hand snapped out and she grabbed him by the collar, lifting him into the air and slamming him into the wall. 'Ridiculous apes. My death won't stop you from dying. What have you done to me?'

'Get your damn hands off me.'

But this time, instead of letting him go, she doubled in pain again. She still held the vampire in one hand, but her other clutched at her abdomen, trying to contain the feeling of being torn apart from the inside.

A moment later, she was recovered. But she was no longer in the hallway. She was back in Wesley's office - and the glass of water had just been spilled. 'Are you alright?' she heard the betrayer ask, as he had done before. But as she opened her mouth to speak - to tell him that the concern of a mayfly was of no consequence to her - another voice answered.

The vampire was there - in the office. 'No I'm not OK,' he said to Wesley. He stared at Illyria, 'what the hell did you do to me?'

'Angel -' Wesley sounded surprised to see him. That was of no surprise to Illyria, from the human's perspective, the halfbreed had just materialised from thin air. But she knew there was more to this. 'You weren't here before,' she said.

Wesley was staring between the two of them. Unable to make any sense of what was going on. 'Who - where did - what just happened?'

'An aberration in the timeline,' Illyria realised, 'it wasn't like this,' and then the pain clenched hold of her once again.

* * *

It was much cooler in the chamber than it had been out on the factory floor, the chill in the air came as a welcome relief. The air was clearer too - no smoke, no sparks flying, no soot and burning cinders. If anything, the wide open space had an atmosphere to it not unlike the stillness of a cathedral. It was that same feeling of hush, of quiet sanctity.

And there were beacons - dozens of them, maybe scores - perhaps as many as a hundred. They lined the chamber, the way suits of armour would line the hall of a castle, side by side - placed at regular intervals. The light reflected on the glass panes, and the metal of the structures was shined to a high polish. They were like lanterns that gigantic Christmas carollers might carry.

'There's so many,' Cordelia breathed, staring around. She kept her voice quiet - though there was no way it could carry all the way out to the workshop, or be heard over the deafening ringing of hammers. It was that feeling of being in church which kept her voice low. 'What do they want with all of these? I thought just one would cause huge destruction?'

'It would,' Doyle looked down the hall - at the way the beacons continued into the distance on either side, and then back towards the door, where there was space for yet more of them to be stored.

'So what do they need all these for?'

'I'm thinkin'... if they set all these up around L.A, in different locations - they could wipe out the whole city in one go. This was where Illyria's kingdom was, this is the place they want to reclaim the most. Once they have their old home back - take it without a fight - then they can start takin' out the rest of California - and then the North West Coast - and then … the whole of North America. No one can fight against these beacons. The whole continent will be theirs. And from the look of it,' he waved an arm to indicate the sheer number of the beacons, 'there isn't long left until they're ready.'

'Six million people live in L.A, alone,' Cordelia said slowly. 'They can kill them all in one night?'

'In about ten minutes, if they've got enough beacons to detonate at once.' It had taken a distressingly short time for him to melt into nothingness, in that other timeline he had witnessed so briefly. But, for as quick as his death had been, it had more than made up for it with pain - if his scream of agony had been anything to go by.

'Well - they're not gonna get a chance to use them,' she sounded determined, matter of fact. 'I just smashed one out there. Come on - use that big stick thing I gave you…'

'Blow pipe.'

'Yeah - and I'll use my hammer. Let's get smashing.' They separated, going to opposite sides of the chamber and each starting with the end beacon. In tandem, they raised their weapons and smashed them into the glass. Doyle's blow pipe shattered the pane of glass instantly, it rained down onto the floor in it's glittering fragments, and - after dodging backwards to avoid the falling shards- he took a step forward and smashed the bulb. The sound was worryingly loud, and he could only hope that no members of The Scourge would hear them. He moved on to the next one.

Cordelia, however, had not fared anywhere near as successfully. Her hammer had hit against the pane of glass and bounced off. She had only avoided being hit in the face by its rebound by letting go of it, but even so she lost her balance and tumbled over backwards.

Doyle turned to look at her, and immediately abandoned what he was doing to help her back up. 'What happened?' he asked her, helping her back to her feet.

She shook her head, 'it didn't break. Hey -' she suddenly spotted the shattered glass of the beacon Doyle had been working on. 'How come yours broke? … you can't have hit it harder than me. And I have a hammer. That makes no sense - you try this one.'

He lifted his blow pipe and rammed it towards the glass. Once more it smashed immediately and cascaded to the floor. Little fragments of it flew outward, and the pair of them had to twist their heads and raise their hands to prevent being cut. He used the pipe to destroy the bulb and damage the filament.

Cordelia tutted. 'I don't get it. I smashed the one out there OK. What's going on in here?'

'The protection charms,' Doyle said slowly, thinking about it. 'Fred said the beacons had protection charms put on 'em so they wouldn't break. You can't smash the glass because it's magically protected. The one out there - they were still workin' on it. Mustn't have put the charm on it yet.'

'OK - that makes sense - I guess. But why can you break them? You're telling me you're powerful enough to punch through a magic barrier and I'm not? No offence, little Irishman but…' she left the sentence dangling and just snorted to show her disbelief.

But Doyle was still thinking, casting his mind back even further - to the very first beacon, locked in the vault at Wolfram and Hart. He remembered - during their heist of the files - Angel trying to smash the beacon with his briefcase, part of his lawyer's disguise. But he had failed. He hadn't been able to make so much as a crack in the glass. And Doyle had known it was himself who had to do it. His sense of destiny had been screaming inside of him to do it. He'd taken the briefcase from Angel, swung with all his might … and shattered it on his first attempt. He closed his eyes and listened, he could hear that same call of destiny now - in here.

'I'm The Promised One,' he said, realising what it all meant. 'Only I can destroy the beacons - 'cause it's what I was born to do. The protective charms don't work against me.'

Cordelia looked around at all the beacons, all gleaming in the light - there were so many of them. But if what Doyle was saying was true, then it couldn't be helped. She had no part to play here - this was his fight. His destiny. 'You're going to have to do this alone, then,' she said and handed him her sledgehammer. 'It's better for smashing.'

He took it from her and held it in both hands. It was heavy - but somehow, it felt right. He stared around the chamber, trying to estimate just how many of them there were. He swallowed - his prominent Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat. 'It'll take longer with just me doin' it. They might find us. I could use a distraction - buy me some extra time.'

She nodded. This was the way she could help him. The only way. 'I'll go back out there - cause trouble. Lock yourself in behind me, OK? And then wait for my signal.'

'What will be your signal?'

'Lots of screaming demons.'

He smiled. 'Be careful.'

'I will.' She suddenly kissed him on the cheek. 'See you when you've completed your destiny, OK?' and then she was gone from the chamber. He used the blow pipe to wedge the handles of the doors shut - the way Cordy had used the staff in the ante chamber - and then he picked up his sledge hammer and stared around, waiting for her signal.

* * *

Illyria recovered and straightened up. But she was no longer in Wesley's office - no longer in the domain of the Wolf the Ram and the Hart, this place was dark - deserted and desolate. The stench of rotting wood - and rotting corpses - assaulted her nostrils. This was the lair of the Gronk Beast. The white haired half breed lay on the floor, where it had been attacked.

But the other vampire was here now, too. Angel stared round the empty building - not understanding where he was or how he came to be here. 'Damn it! What the hell is this?' There was a note of panic in his voice.

She stared at him, 'you followed me.'

But Angel had just noticed Spike lying on the ground. 'Spike?'

'You've been swept up in my wake.'

'This is where you went on patrol? The other night?'

She tilted her head, and circled Angel - her eyes glittering in the gloom. 'How have you worms accomplished this?'

'We didn't. We - accomplish what ?'

Her eyes flashed with anger. 'You ripped me out of linear progression, tore my timeline into shreds and stitched it back together out of sequence.'

'Are you kidding me?'

'You caged me in this fractured time frame, in moments that repeat themselves over and over without deviation.' She paused and considered this, her head still tilted in her insect way. 'But I don't say these words. I cross to the half breed - where he lies bloodied and beaten.' She walked over to where Spike lay on the ground. 'We speak - and the demon attacks again.' she whirled round and punched her fist straight through the approaching Gronk Beast's head. Its skull exploded and its headless corpse fell to the floor. She turned back to Angel. 'Is it of your sciences? How do you unweave time this way?'

'This isn't us,' he protested, shaking his head, 'we don't have the power to do -' but he was cut off by her fist slamming into his face. He flew backwards through the air and landed, with a thud, on the ground.

'Do you know what you were when I was young?' she demanded. 'You were the muck at our feet. We called you "the ooze which eats itself." You were pretty at night. You sparkled, and you stank. You still stink of it!'

He scrambled back to his feet. 'Will you just shut up for once?'

Illyria looked like he had just hit her_, 'what?' _

'My God, the speechifying. Has it ever occurred to you that right now might not be the best time for when-we-were-muck stories?'

'You dare to speak to me in this -'

'Yes I dare,' he interrupted her. He was yelling now. 'And yes - we are looking to control you, in any way we can. And yes - my preferred option is to kill you. You're not Fred - she's not coming back and I have to face that. And everything that means. And I can't have a X factor like you bouncing around unchecked.

'_Bouncing around?' _She was as insulted as she was made furious by this description.

But Angel was unrepentant. 'Yes - and I know you would do the same thing. I know that for a fact. But this is my kingdom, lady - not yours.'

'Your kingdom! I am Illyria! God-king of the primordium, shaper of things.'

'Yeah well, that was then -'

But the pain had taken hold of Illyria once more, and she doubled over clutching at her stomach.

* * *

Doyle walked through the chamber alone. It was even more deathly quiet in here now Cordelia had left him. He was straining his ears - waiting to hear the tell tale sounds of his slayer girlfriend causing a distraction amongst the guards of this underworld. Only once they were all preoccupied with trying to catch Cordelia would it be safe for him to start the loud and messy job of destroying the beacons.

He wasn't too worried about Cordy - out there by herself - though he always worried about her, a little. But she could take care of herself, she had the natural force of a hurricane - and she would blow right the way through the hellscape and turn it on its head. The Scourge would not know what had hit them, but this place would not forget that a vampire slayer had come to town for a long time to come.

Meanwhile, being in this place - by himself - with the beacons, meant that he had the stillness and silence he needed to really hear them, to feel them calling. They seemed to hum - as if they were sentient, as if they were aware their promised destroyer was amongst them. His sense of them seemed to vibrate right the way through him, thrumming in his bloodstream and making him tingle right the way to his fingertips. He wanted to get smashing. It was his purpose in life and he wanted to fulfil it. Having to hold himself back until it was safe to do so was taking all of his willpower.

As he slowly made his way towards the very end of the hall, his bare feet slapping against the cool stone of the floor, he began to feel the chill of this place. He had now been out of the stifling heat of the factory floor long enough that the colder air of this place no longer came as a welcome relief - and instead he felt all the small hairs on his arms and on the back of his neck raise up and the goose flesh creep across his skin. He abandoned his sledgehammer in the middle of the floor and wrapped his arms around himself instead, rubbing his hands up and down his upper arms to try and create some heat with the friction.

He looked around at the beacons - up and down the hall - and then he frowned. Maybe it was perspective - just the way it looked from where he was standing but … he headed back down to the first unsmashed beacon by the door and peered at it. It was numbered, he realised - a little plaque nailed to the wall above it. It was number 21. He glanced at the two beacons he had already destroyed - one one each side of the room. They were 19 and 20. And - with a quick count, he realised that there were 18 spare places. 18 more beacons to make before The Scourge were ready to take out the whole of L.A.

But that wasn't what had actually brought him here. There was something else troubling him. Something about the size of them …

He didn't have any proper way of measuring the giant lights, so he did the only thing he could: turned his back to it, pushed his heels far back against it as he could, stood up straight and then used his hand to mark where his head came up to. Keeping his hand in place, he turned and looked - there was about a foot of space between his hand and the top of the beacon.

He wandered back down the hall, past all the odd numbers. He stopped again at number 31 and measured again. Of course this was an imprecise way of doing it but … there seemed to be more like a foot and half between his hand and the top of the lantern now. By number 41 the difference appeared even more stark, and by 51 he knew he wasn't mistaken. The beacons were getting bigger the further in he went. And if they were bigger - then that suggested they would be more powerful too.

The original beacon was a device designed to kill anything the light touched within a quarter mile, in every direction. But these bigger beacons - their range might be even wider and more deadly yet. Well, if everything went according to plan, The Scourge would never get a chance to use them. That was what he was here for.

As he got closer to the end - in between 69 and 71 - he found a large and ornately carved cupboard standing in the middle of the two beacons. Turning, he saw another just like it across the room - between 68 and 70. With a glance back to the doors to the chamber, making sure he was still undetected, he pulled the cupboard open and looked inside.

There were dozens more beacons here - only they were smaller. Much smaller. About three inches in height, shelf after shelf of them. If the beacons were bombs, then these must be like hand grenades - doing the exact same job but on a smaller scale.

There was something about the way they all sat on the shelves, their glass shining inside their tiny metal structures, that made his mind turn to the scene in the ministry in the latest Harry Potter book - when they smashed all the time turners. That's exactly what these little beacons made him think of, actually: timeturners. Little glass objects of immense power. And like Hermione's own time turner, they were attached to looped strings, so they could be worn round the neck.

With another nervous glance at the door, he reached in and picked one out. It fit just perfectly in the palm of his hand. And - though he was there to destroy them all - and though he wasn't sure why he did it, like Hermione, he put it round his neck and then tucked it down his clothes so it couldn't be seen. The petty theft - even against murderous pure blood demons he was looking to kill - made his heart suddenly beat faster and his cheeks flush with sudden heat. Sweaty and uncomfortable once again - he left the door to the cupboard open and scurried back down the hallway to retrieve his sledgehammer.

* * *

'This is … now,' Angel finished up. He stared around himself. They were out of the warehouse and back at Wolfram and Hart, in the training room. Only … Wesley was lying dead on the floor, a dagger in his chest. And Lorne was slumped beside him - equally still. Equally dead.

Illyria was standing in the middle of the room and - somehow - she now had hold of a battle axe. She too looked at the bodies on the floor. 'Yes. Nothing's what it used to be, is it?'

'No,' his voice was barely a whimper as he stared at the bodies of his slaughtered friends, his family. Gone.

'These are the fruits of your attempts to murder me,' Illyria said to him, pointing her battle axe at Wes and Lorne. Then she smashed it down into a pile of dust he hadn't even noticed. 'I slew the white haired one first.'

He shook his head, 'this can't be.'

'She lifted her axe again. 'And then Wesley, as he raised his weapon … and your demon clown as he wilted in terror.'

'And I'm next,' Angel muttered to himself. Thinking he understood, thinking he knew where this was going. But he was wrong. 'No vampire,' Illyria corrected him. She flung the axe down into another pile of dust, it clanged against the hard ground and sent the ashes flying up into the air. 'You were last.'

'Why?' he raised his eyes from the pile of dust that was his own death to look at her.

'You know nothing of this. You are from an earlier point in the timeline. You are a paradox. You're impossible.'

'We attacked you,' he guessed, staring around. That seemed to be the only possibility - and Wesley, lifeless Wesley, was holding some kind of weapon in his dead hand. But Angel didn't know why - or how - this had happened.

'I never gave you the chance,' Illyria snarled at him. 'That you learn when you become a king.' She doubled up in pain and gasped out, but this time they did not blow to another place, and she fought the pain down - though she still panted as she spoke. 'You learn to destroy everything that is not utterly yours. All that matters is victory. That is how your reign persists.' She looked him up and down. 'You are a slave to an insane construct. You once had morals, you cared to be a hero. Your family chafe at your shedding of your champion's mantle, your loss of morality. But it is necessary. Inevitable. A ruler should be as amoral as a hurricane, empty but for the force of his gale.'

The pain took hold of her again, and she gripped herself tighter. 'But you … trapped in the web of the Wolf the Ram and the Hart.' She raised her hands, 'so much power here, and yet you quibble at it's price. If you want to win a war you must serve no master but your ambition.'

She buckled over with pain again, this time grabbing at her head - as if trying to contain all she was leaking inside of her fragile, human skull. She staggered backwards. 'Oh, you have not lied. My undoing is beyond you, your people. Something is broken inside me.' She staggered again, unable to keep her balance as the pain ripped into her, tore her apart. 'My power is too great. I know this now, as I know it every time I come to this moment.'

'Illyria,' he stared at her in concern - all these things, his friends dead, himself nothing but a pile of dust … though he stood right here. And Illyria herself, detonating right before his eyes. This moment was the end of everything and yet… 'if I'm here, if I'm a paradox, then this can all change, can't it?' he demanded. This could not be how it ended for them. This was not the way his family died. 'You said things had been altered - what you said, what you did! You can change this outcome.'

Illyria straightened up. 'Change is constant. Yet things remain the same.' And then a crack opened on her face, a fracture splitting her skin apart and glowing blinding blue from the inside. More and more cracks appeared, her body fragmented, the blue light shone brighter and brighter - and then she exploded outward, destroying everything in her path. The force of it hit Angel - and he was blown backwards, right through the air.

* * *

Cordelia had left the cooler storage chambers and headed back out into the heat of The Scourge's hellish workshop. As soon as she stepped through the door, the heat hit her like walking into a furnace, and the acrid smoke filled her lungs and made her choke. But she had a job to do. An important job. Not Promised One important but - still pretty crucial. She needed to do this so Doyle could do the real work, he couldn't manage it without her.

She crept back through the crowds of enslaved humans, completing their own part in the mass production of the beacons. She was headed for the centre of the factory floor. She wanted to be in the middle - to create as much chaos as possible, send out waves of disruption in every direction. She needed to be central.

Not too far away, a guard was unlocking a series of cages, and letting a group of frightened looking humans out of their prison cells. From their frightened, tear stained faces and the way they stared around them, Cordelia guessed these guys must be new recruits. The ones who had been here any length of time didn't raise their heads long enough to stare, and they seemed too dead inside to cry.

The guard cracked his whip until the huddled humans managed to form a line, and then it led them off into the workshop. The new slaves straggled behind their overseer - and Cordelia joined the back of the line. It was safer to travel the floor with other humans than it was to risk being caught and captured going it alone.

They walked deep into the foundry, past the anvils and the furnaces and the humans pushing beacon parts around in wheelbarrows. Cordelia could see the gangway where she and Doyle had come in, she could see the vats of molten metal. If she turned slightly she could see over to where the bulbs were manufactured - now she knew what she was looking for - and in the distance she could see where the beacons got all fitted together and wired up. This place would do.

And she was in luck - because it was here that the guard suddenly cracked his whip and brought the straggling line to a halt. Cordelia stood right on the end, her shoulders hunched and her head low, though she twisted her neck slightly so she could peer down the line and watch what was going on.

The guard was facing them all. 'You work and you live,' he barked at them, 'that is all. You do not complain or laugh or do anything besides work. Whatever you thought, whatever you were, does not matter. You are no one now. You mean nothing.'

He stepped up to the human right on the other end of the line and glowered down into her face. 'Who are you?' he asked.

She kept her head hanging low. 'Katelynn,' she whimpered. The guard hit her in the stomach with his nightstick and then over her head as she crumpled. 'You are no one.'

* * *

Angel landed with a thud, feeling the wall against his back. He opened his eyes, expecting to be dead. But when he opened them - he was in the hallway at Wolfram and Hart, just outside the training room. And Wesley and Spike … they were still alive. They were heading for the room.

'So what sort of damage are we looking at if Illyria Chernobyls on us?' Spike was asking Wesley.

'Conservative guess, several city blocks.' The watcher turned to look at Angel, in annoyance, wondering why the vampire was now lagging behind. Angel stared back at him. 'Wes - you're alive! Illyria - she's self destructing, she's a time bomb.'

Spike raised a sardonic eyebrow. 'Read today's paper, did ya?' he turned and walked away.

'What?' he hurried after him.

'We've been yapping about bloody nothing but that for the last ten minutes.'

'No no no,' he tried to make them understand - what was going on, the seriousness of it all. 'She grabbed me and we phased through time. I don't think she meant to do it. She's overloading. She's gonna explode.'

Wesley shook his head and kept on walking. 'We know that, Angel, we've been over all this.'

They passed Lorne at the door to the training room. The demon shook his walkie talkie into Angel's face, 'do you even know how to work this thing?' and then followed the other three into the room. There was no one in there but them.

'She's come unstuck in time,' Angel tried to explain, frantic in his bid to make them understand exactly what was going on - what he had seen - how desperate their immediate future was. 'She knows what happens. She's seen it. She knows I'm trying to kill her.'

Wesley frowned in recognition of Angel's words. 'Yes, she said that to me too.'

Angel looked at the three of them … and realised who they all were. No one but the people he had seen dead by Illyria's hand. In the place he'd seen them slain. This must be the moment. 'Oh, guys - this isn't good.'

'That's funny,' Lorne was looking around the room, not really paying attention to the anxious vampire. 'I didn't even see her leave.'

Spike shrugged. 'Well that's the problem…'

'I slew the whitehaired one first,' Angel muttered to himself; realising; remembering. He stared up at Spike.

'You don't always see her when she's…'

Angel suddenly rushed himself straight at the other vampire, launching himself forward and pushing him out of the way - just as Illyria appeared behind him. Spike staggered to the side - and the stake drove straight through Angel's torso instead.

* * *

The guard stood in front of the next new slave. 'Who are you?'

With their head hanging low, not daring to make eye contact, they muttered, 'I'm no one.' Satisfied, the guard moved onto the next one, asking the same question and receiving the same answer.

On and on down the line, the guard asked the same question over and over and received the same answer from the terrified humans. 'I'm no one.' 'I'm no one.' 'I'm no one.'

Eventually, he reached the end of the line and stood in front of Cordelia. She kept her head down low - and could hear that he expected no trouble from her in the way he spoke. He thought he had her as cowed as the rest of them.

'Who are you?'

She looked up at him then, and made eye contact. Her smile was big and bright. 'I'm Cordelia - the vampire slayer, and you are?'


	77. Time Bomb: Part Four

_Part Four_

The stake plunged into Angel's shoulder. He groaned and slumped to the floor - but it had missed his heart and - more crucially - missed Spike all together. The timeline had been changed. He flung a hand out towards Illyria - and another to Wesley as he aimed his gun. 'Wait … wait…' he staggered back to his feet and pulled the stake from his shoulder, grunting in pain again as he did. 'Illyria - wait. Please. Wes - put that thing down. Spike. Nobody move.'

Illyria was staring at him, her face was troubled and angry - nothing made sense. She had lost all sense, all reason - and now that which repeated itself over and over was changing too. All she had left was the knowledge of what happened, seeing it again and again - and now the halfbreed had taken even that. 'This too - all changing.' Though there was one constant - the pain, agonising and debilitating and threatening to overwhelm her and tear her apart. She gripped her head. She was close to the end - as she always was at this point … but now she feared this would be a true end. There would be no return to her fragmented timeline now the timeline was altered.

'I know what happens,' Angel said to her, 'I know you kill us all.'

Spike made a scoffing sound in the back of his throat, 'oh a bit pessimistic, aren't you?' But Angel ignored him and spoke only to Illyria, trying to reason with her. 'And then you shudder, and convulse with pain, and the power inside of you explodes.'

She still gripped her head, as if still trying to contain that power that must burst outwards. Everything was unravelling. 'You are the Angel from the past. You were swept up in my wake.'

'You're not a king anymore. Your domain is gone, swallowed by time,' he tried to tell her. She moved her head - tilting it this way and that is if trying to hear something, fine tune something to the right frequency - but it was lost in the buzzing of her ears. 'We have had this conversation before.'

'You explode,' he told her - his voice was urgent but not heated. 'I was there. It was powerful enough to blow me back through time. I have no idea what it does to the building.'

'More like the continental shelf, actually,' Wes corrected him. Angel glanced at the watcher and then looked back at Illyria. The urgency was in his eyes now as well as his voice. 'I have to stop that, do you understand? I cannot have your death blow away my -'

'Your Kingdom?' she yelled at him. He didn't reply. Though he felt the eyes of his friends fall on him - judge him - in that silence. Illyria glared at him. 'You ask me to let you murder me.'

'It's not murder if you say yes,' Spike said. Everyone ignored him.

'Illyria - you're dying,' Angel said to her. 'Whether we kill you or not - you won't survive more than another minute. This is the end of the line for you. I can't let it be the end of the line for everyone else.'

'You think I care?' she yelled back, her hands gripping her head so tightly it looked like she would crush her skull between her hands. 'Your lives are nothing. Meaningless. Mayflies dead before they know they are alive. Motes of dust - dead matter clinging to the air. I am Illyria - the ecstasy - the agony. I lived forever, I knew all and conquered more. That my life weighs the same in the balance as yours … you weigh less than sunlight. I would rather be a titanic crater than sacrifice myself for the halfbreed fools who stole this world from me.' She straightened up - and kicked Wesley in the chest, sending him flying across the room. Spike kicked her in the face, she barely flinched. 'I kill you. This is how it ends.'

She charged at Spike, but the vampire grabbed hold of her and flung her against the wall. 'What? Getting ahead of ourselves a bit?' He launched himself towards her but she waved her arm and trapped him inside a time wave. She stood to move out of his way, but as she did another wave of pain engulfed her and she bent double, screaming out. As she lost her focus, the time wave collapsed and the room was restored to normal speed.

'Illyria,' Angel took a step towards her. 'The future can change here, you can choose a different path.'

'I can choose my own demise.'

'That choice is out of your hands,' it was Wesley who spoke to her. 'Your time is over, your fate is sealed. This plan - to return to the world after so long sleeping - was doomed before it was even conceived. The days of the Old Ones have long gone - and this world belongs to mortals now. You have no place here. And now you must reap what you have sown. This is the end for you. Fight all you like, you will still be destroyed. That is inevitable.'

'But what isn't inevitable is that everyone else has to be destroyed along with you,' Angel told her. 'And that's the future we're fighting for.'

* * *

The guard roared, incensed at Cordelia's insubordination, and raised his club back - ready to smack it down on her as hard as he could. But as he swung, she sidestepped, grabbed hold of his arm, twisted - and broke it. He dropped to the floor, groaning in pain.

The other slaves were staring at her, looking startled and alarmed and more than a little afraid. She looked down the line at them, 'anyone here not having fun, follow me,' and she led them through the factory floor back to the ladder. 'Up there,' she said - pointing - 'and then wait.'

As they all started to climb, she darted back off through the iron works. She tapped a slave with a sledge hammer on the shoulder. He turned and stared at her - his face bewildered, as if unable to comprehend why anyone would touch him - would interact with him. She pointed at the straggle of escaping slaves, 'we're moving out - follow them, go!' She grabbed his hammer from him and gave him a shove. He stumbled off towards the ladder, still bewildered but following orders and she darted through to the next slave.

'The escape's happening,' she yelled as loudly as she could. 'Everyone - out - now - we're leaving!' She grabbed hold of as many humans as she could lay her hands on, forcibly shoving them towards the ladder and the start of the mass exodus. But by this time, the guards had noticed what was going on - were starting to grab hold of humans, force them back to work.

Gripping hold of the handle of her newly acquired hammer - she launched herself at the nearest guard and swung it at its face. It crumpled - and let go of the human, which scuttled away towards the flow of escaping slaves. Cordy turned and swung at the next demon - and then the next. 'You have weapons,' she screamed at the humans, 'use them!'

One by one, the enslaved people looked down at the heavy implements in their hands - and the slow realisation crossed their faces, lighting them up like the beacons they forged. They saw what Cordelia was doing - and began to copy her. Of course they couldn't hit as hard as she could, could not make the guards crumple with one swing, and the demons were bigger and stronger … but the humans outnumbered them at least ten to one and, suddenly reminded that they were more than just mindless beasts of burden, they fought together with a ferocity and anger that allowed them to overwhelm the individual guards.

The guards had only their whips and clubs, and they weren't the foot soldiers of The Scourge - they were the ones left behind in their own dimension to guard over the weakly and broken human slaves. Not the strongest or fiercest of their breed by any stretch of the imagination. And the humans had hammers and saws and wrenches .. all the tools that had been placed in their hands by The Scourge themselves, assuming they would never raise them as weapons. Now a fight back had started, the guards found themselves on the back foot - facing the unthinkable.

Cordy hit out with her hammer once again - downing another demon. As she looked around, she saw a slave charge at a guard with her wheelbarrow, taking its feet out from under it. It landed in the ground with a heavy thump - and immediately two more humans jumped into position, lifting a vat of molten metal and pouring it over the prostrate demon. Its agonised scream, as the scalded metal seared its flesh and boiled it alive, made even Cordelia flinch.

But she turned back to the fight, kicking and punching and swinging her hammer at any demon that came within her range. And then - overhead - a light started to flash red and a loud alarm, like the terrifying wail of an air raid siren, started to sound. She glanced up at the flashing light, 'well - we've gone public.' She swung her hammer at another guard and then turned to a group of humans, pushing them towards the escape route, 'go on - they'll be sending more guards - get outta here!'

...

Far away, inside the chamber of the beacons, Doyle heard the wail of the siren and understood what it meant. Cordelia's distraction was well underway. It was safe for him to get to work. 'Thanks, Princess,' he muttered under his breath, as he lifted his sledgehammer and smashed it against the glass of the nearest beacon.

* * *

Illyria gasped, the pain was so intense and it was building inside her, more and more, reaching a crescendo of agony - and she knew the end must be near. She wanted to kill this human and these halfbreeds, end their lives, snap their necks like kindling in one final act of revenge before she blew her old kingdom off the map, with the rage and power of her destruction. But she could not move for the pain - it froze her limbs in place, grounding her - unable to fight, unable to kill... and then she saw Wesley, the betrayer, raise his weapon and point it right at her. And there was nothing she could do. She would be gone - and this world would remain, move forward without her … as it had done so many aeons before.

'I possess so much grace,' she gasped out, 'more grace than this bag of sticks could express. I was the immaculate embodiment of rule.' A crack appeared on her face, glowing blue - and then more fractures opened up - the light escaping her, shining out and ready to destroy everything in its path. 'I blame this on the weakness of your species.'

'Fair enough,' Wesley aimed his gun - and pulled the trigger. The weapon shot out a beam of light which struck Illyria directly in the chest. The blue light inside of her began to seep into the beam of the gun and then dissipate, her whole body convulsed and shook and, as all the blue energy was drawn out of her, the fractures began to heal over. And then there was a sudden pulse of blue light, blinding them all for a moment … and when they could see again, the weapon had shut off, the energy was gone and there was just a small, fragile, brown haired figure huddled on the floor.

Fred took a great gasp of air, and stared down at her hands - they were trembling, shaking so hard she couldn't control them …. And then she just seemed to crumple in on herself, and began to cry.

In a moment, Lorne was down on the floor with her, he wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest, crooning soothing noises.

'Oh Lorne - I got lost … I got so lost!' she wept.

'Shhh, we found you, baby - we will always find you.'

The three men stared down at them … not sure what to think, not quite understanding … not daring to believe. Angel tore his eyes aware and looked, instead, at Wesley. 'I thought you said it would kill her.'

Wesley stared at him, this man he did not know anymore - this man he could no longer trust. His eyes were cold. 'I lied,' he replied, simply.

* * *

Doyle ran zigzagging across the chamber, smashing beacon after beacon in numerical order. The glass would shatter and fly outwards, the skin of his hands and arms and face was now lacerated with hundreds of tiny, angry, red cuts. But he kept on going. Each beacon only took a matter of seconds: smash the glass, wait for the shards to settle and then destroy the bulb … and then onto the next one.

Within two minutes he had made it all the way down to the cupboard between 69 and 71 and all the tiny beacons on their shelves. He raised his sledgehammer above his head and brought it down right into the cupboard, smashing through the shelves themselves, and just letting the beacons fall to the floor and smash on the ground. They cascaded down like a sharply, glittering waterfall. And then he used the hammer to grind what was left into dust, on the floor. He crossed the room and did the same with the opposite cupboard - and then smashed number 70.

The beacons were huge - this high up - though they smashed just as easily. He shuddered to think how many miles their beam would shine, how many people they could kill in a matter of agonising moments. But that would never happen now. He worked steadily and methodically, breaking them all - letting the glass fall to the ground and then smashing the bulb and breaking the filament. Another minute and a half later and he was right at the end of the chamber, the beacons towering above him by several feet, he kept on smashing 95, 96 - even bigger, 97, 98 - bigger again, 99 … he came to a stop. He was at the very end of the hall - had smashed the last beacon lining the long edges of the room. The space for number 100 was along the other wall - the head of the table, so to speak. Judging by the room left for it - number 100 must be monstrous in its proportions - at least three times as high as Doyle. It's light must reach about ten miles - in all directions. But this was only a guess - because it wasn't there.

100 was missing. No longer in the chamber. And - as much as he wanted to believe that meant it just hadn't been built yet - the dread thudding of his heart, the voice of destiny inside of him, told him it was already made. The army of The Scourge, its military wing, already had it - up on the surface, up in his own world, ready to use. This wasn't over - he wasn't finished, wasn't done - not yet. But there was nothing else he could do here now.

Still clutching his sledgehammer, he ran back down the length of the chamber - pulled the pipe out from where it was wedged between the door handles and then left, running through the magic chamber - and then, with a deep breath, steadying himself for the blast of heat - out into the iron works. He was immediately blinded and choked by the thick smoke, he coughed and spluttered - and, when his eyes adjusted, he found the hellscape had been transformed into world war three.

Everywhere - in every direction - the human slaves were ganging up on the guards and tackling them to the ground, stomping them into the dust and smashing them with their hammers and their wrenches. Elsewhere, guards fought back - cracking their whips and swinging their clubs, trying to beat the humans back into submission. And above all of this, the alarm flashed red - bathing the scene in a bloody light - and the siren wailed. Cordelia had meant business when she had caused a distraction.

He took another breath and then leapt into the fray, swinging his hammer at a guard that was beating a couple of the humans about the head with its club. The guard collapsed and Doyle pushed the slaves ahead of himself, back towards the exit. 'Come on!' He ran with them, occasionally stopping to take a swing at another guard, and collecting humans with him as he headed back to the ladder and the galleyway and their hidden clothes - along with the device that opened portals. He could only hope that somehow he would find Cordelia in the midst of all this chaos … this din.

Humans shoved past him as they fled through the factory floor, making their way to the ladder and a hope of escape. But some guards were running too - not trying to cut them off, it looked … it looked like they were fleeing. Cordelia had them on the run.

He ran past the now abandoned construction stations - the exoskeletons of the beacons standing there half finished, like the remains of some prehistoric creature patched together in a museum. 'It's a slayer,' he heard a guard bark at another - as they fled towards the exit. He twisted his head hoping maybe Cordy would be in view. 'Another one?' he heard the other guard say - he frowned.

And then he saw her - standing raised above the ground, on a platform, swinging her hammer so fast it was little more than a blur. There was an entire pile of dead guards at her feet and - as he watched - another tried to climb over the bodies of its brethren. She just kicked out with her foot, striking it straight in the chest and pushed it away from her, it tippled backwards - crashing to the ground and was immediately run over by an out of control wheelbarrow.

'Cordelia!' he yelled as loud as he could, but she was too distant and so he ran closer, waving his arms madly to try and get her attention. 'Cordelia!'

'Doyle!' she had seen him. She raised her fingers to her lips, sticking them in her mouth and whistling so sharply that it somehow managed to cut in over the sound of the siren. 'Everyone out - now! We're going!' She jumped down from her platform and ran over to Doyle, flinging her arm around him and kissing him, 'did you do it?' He nodded - he would tell her about the missing beacon later, for now they just needed to escape.

More ladders had been found and flung up to reach the walkway, a steady stream of humans were climbing them - though the metal gangway up top was getting more and more crowded - and they could only hope it would not collapse under the weight of so many people.

Some guards were fleeing up ladders too - reaching the walkway and then running - hell for leather - away from the crowds, in the opposite direction to the one Cordelia and Doyle had arrived from. Waiting on the factory floor until the last slave had climbed upwards, Cordelia spotted them and pointed. 'Where are they going?' she asked.

Doyle frowned. 'They're escaping.'

'Where too? The portal's the other direction.'

He frowned even deeper, his brow furrowing - as if he had just realised something. 'The portal we came through was old, closed up - it hadn't been used for years. They must have a different one, must have found a new one when the last one closed up. Punched their way back through to our world. There's another way in and out of this dimension … that's how they managed to get all these people here.'

'Well we need to find it then.'

He looked surprised, 'why?'

'_Because_ \- we have to find it to close it, we can't leave a gateway between this hellhole and our world just lying open. Besides … there's no way I can hold that gate open long enough for all these people to get through. We need another way out.'

'Yeah - OK,' he nodded. With the last slave now up the ladder, he stood back to let Cordy climb up and then - with a final look around the now deserted and destroyed hellscape, climbed his way back up to the walkway.

They pushed their way through the crowd of milling, frightened people to retrieve their hidden clothes and - more importantly - Fred's device. Doyle switched it on and it began to blink, indicating interdimensional activity. He nodded again, 'right, this way,' and, holding Cordelia's hand, they began to lead all the slaves in the direction the few remaining guards had fled, hoping to find a portal.

They found themselves in an earthy corridor, not unlike the one they had first come down - lights flickering overhead, just the same. The device in Doyle's hand began to beep faster. 'We're gettin' close … we're gettin'...' he came to a stop. The portal was right in front of him, wide open and jagged. 'It's here! Quick ….' again, he stood back, this time to usher all the slaves through first. They pushed and jostled their way past, a seemingly unending stream of them, 'go on - through there,' he gave some an encouraging shove as they passed by. And then the last one had jumped through and Cordy and Doyle we're alone. 'Let's go.'

'Wait a minute,' she twisted to stare back down the way they had come. 'Is everybody out?' she yelled as loud as she could. She brought her hand up and gave that piercing whistle once more. 'Is there anybody left in here?' But only silence echoed back at them and … satisfied, she nodded. 'Now we can go.'

Still holding hands - they jumped through the portal … and landed hard on the asphalt of a shopping plaza. There were screams all around them, as The Scourge guards fled through the shoppers - pushing their way through to the exit. People stood staring in shocked surprise at the scores, maybe hundreds, of humans who had just materialised out of nowhere - some very old, some clearly very sick - all wearing identical burlap sacks and covered in soot and grime.

'Close the portal,' Doyle heard Cordy hiss from beside him. 'Oh, right,' he pushed a button on the device and - like it had to open a portal - a light shot out and scanned the area. There was a beep, and then the hole between the worlds closed up.

'Right - now all we need to do is get home.' She stood up, straightened her burlap sack and then ran an eye across her boyfriend, taking in his frizzed hair and soot stained smudges, 'please tell me I do not look as bad as you… _in public_.'

* * *

They were up in Fred's office - Angel's being taken up with the meeting with the Fell Brethren. Wesley had ... disappeared, so it was just the two vampires, Lorne - and Fred. Her eyes were brown again, soft and warm once more. And her hair was brown too - save for one tendril, curling down by her face, which remained electric blue - the only outward sign of what she had been through these past few weeks.

'So … what happens now?' Angel asked, he was sitting behind Fred's desk, 'are you ...OK?'

She gave a soft snort, and then followed it up with a gentle smile. 'Right as rain.'

'But Illyria - is she …?'

'Gone - mostly. Whatever Wesley did … he sucked her out of me. Almost completely. I can …' she scrunched up her face. 'I can still hear her - feel her, but it's like an echo, you know? I can remember more than I should, know things I can't possibly know … but it's faint. I'm in charge, completely in charge, Illyria's not there anymore - but everything that was in her head I can still access, 'cause it was in my head too - except it's blurry. Like a distant memory ... or a watercolour.'

'Well, that's good then,' Spike said, 'Percy solved the puzzle. You're fixed.'

'Yep.'

'And with just one pretty souvenir to remember it all by,' Lorne ran his fingers through her blue lock of hair.

She smiled - and then shook her head. 'There's a bit more. Like I know stuff I shouldn't ... I still have some other bits of Illyria. Other echoes. I'm … I'm stronger than I should be, faster too. My reflexes … nothin' like she had. I can't stop time, or open portals or destroy a head with one punch … nothin' outside the normal range of human superpowers...' She giggled to herself softly, '_normal range of human superpowers,'_ she repeated - as if realising how silly that sounded. 'I'm nothin' like I was - nothin' like she was … but I'm still more than just Fred. I guess you can't hold that much power inside of you for that long and not retain some of it.'

'Well that'll come in right handy,' Spike said, quickly. There was a note of forced cheerfulness to his voice. All of them - Fred included - were trying their hardest to sound cheerful and bright about the whole business, put the hurt behind them - pretend it had never existed.

'So - is that everything?' Angel asked her. She shook her head. 'Do you have my - the crystal - from Illyria's sarcophagus?'

'Yeah - I gave it to Spike.'

'Oh right,' Spike suddenly remembered being handed the crystal when he was put on babysitting duty a couple of weeks prior. 'I - uh - it should be here in the office…' He scanned around, opened a couple of drawers and then located it under a pile of papers. He blew some dust off it and handed it across to Fred. 'good as new.'

She took it from him - and immediately her eyes glowed blue again. 'When I hold my crystal my power cannot be contained - you cannot trap such glory within one meagre little human and expect it not to spill over. It is folly to do anything but bend to my will.'

She slammed it down on the desk and withdrew her hands, her eyes turning brown again. The men looked at her in alarm and she smiled, a little embarrassed. 'Illyria gets louder when I hold the crystal,' she explained. 'I'm more powerful with it - stronger and faster - I know more, see her memories more clearly - can imagine doing … just terrible things … and the crystal itself can alter the flow of time…' She pushed it across to Angel and retracted her hands as quickly as she could. 'I don't want it. Please - put it away somewhere I'll never find. Where I won't look for it. Illyria's gone - for the most part - let's keep it that way.'

He nodded, and took the crystal, slipping inside his jacket pocket. 'I'll keep it safe.'

'Well - ' Lorne was smiling around at everyone, 'I'd say celebrations were in order, I don't care how early in the day it is, we got our Freddikins back, drinks all round?'

'Count me in,' Spike said. They looked at Fred, she shook her head. 'Actually - I think I better go speak to Wesley.'

* * *

Wesley sat in his own office, he had poured himself a scotch but was having trouble drinking it because his hands would not stop trembling. He had imagined Fred returning to herself many times, since he lost her. He'd always tried to push the fantasies away, a watcher did not dwell on dreams and half truths… but he had not always been able to stop them crowding in on him.

Whilst he had told everyone - yelled at them - that she was gone and she was not coming back, he had not been able to stop himself from imagining a world in which he managed to save her. A world in which the glittering blue insect gaze had vanished from her eyes, leaving them loving and warm once again. And he had imagined - every time - what he would do when that happened. How he would sweep her into his arms and hold her close - never let go of her again.

And yet … when she returned, it was Lorne who had held her whilst she cried - and he had come here, to hide himself away - and drink. He had never imagined hiding away from her. Yet here he was. There was … he thought there would be more relief, more joy - and yet there was only terror, terror it was a dream. Terror she would be taken again. Terror that things were not as they seemed. And he could not bring himself to face that - so he hid, his every nerve screaming inside of him, his hands shaking, his limbs feeling weak.

The door opened a crack. 'Wesley?'

He felt his heart freeze in his chest. It was her.

'You in here?'

He put the scotch down - he hadn't managed to drink any anyway, and cleared his throat. 'Yes - come in.'

She stepped inside. She took his breath away. She was … Fred, so lovely, so sweet - just as he had remembered. He got to his feet - though he didn't really trust his legs to support him, and came round the front of his desk.

'I came to check you were OK,' she said to him.

'I…' he didn't know what to say to that. He wasn't OK - he was still terrified.

'And I needed to thank you - for stoppin' me exploding. For bringing me back … bookman came through.'

'I couldn't have done it without your notes - and your equations. I couldn't have built that gun without your help, even if you didn't know you were helping me. You saved yourself, Fred.'

She smiled. 'Well - let's call it a team effort... are you sure you're OK?' She stepped forward and took hold of his hand, a concerned expression on her face. He glanced down at where they were touching, feeling the warmth and the softness of her hand in his own. 'I...I don't really know what I feel. I…'

'Well,' she glanced over at the scotch on his desk, 'I guess I should give you some space - to figure things out.' She turned to go - and suddenly he knew that he could not let her walk out that door. He pulled her back to him, wrapped his arms around her and engulfed her in a kiss.

* * *

They were back in the apartment, showered, clean and dressed like humans once more. Cordelia made the coffee and then they curled up on the sofa. 'So today was a success,' she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. 'With any luck we've managed to separate the army of The Scourge from their home dimension - and trapped any guards down there unable to get out. No more making beacons and passing them across.'

'I guess - maybe that's what happened last time. The portal got sealed and the army got cut off - stuck up here. After they lost their beacon they went underground … until they found another way to punch back through to their own world and start making beacons again. That's why they came back now.'

'And because you're The Promised One - and now you're ready to take them,' she twisted round slightly so she could give him a kiss, and smiled proudly. 'And now all the beacons are destroyed and we just have to find a way to take out the army. No way will they be as easy to kill as the guards, they're the elite.'

'Actually…' he looked uncomfortable.

'What?'

'I didn't destroy _all_ the beacons. There was one missin' - the biggest one. I think the soldiers already have it.'

'_What?' _

He nodded. 'There's still one left - and we need to find it and destroy it.'

'You mean _you _need to destroy it.'

'I just hope I can get close enough … but I got this,' he pulled the tiny beacon out of his pocket. 'They had a whole load of little ones. I smashed the rest but I kept this one. Didn't know why at the time - but I guess maybe part of me already knew about the missin' one? This one can come in handy - to study. I'll take a look at the wirin'.'

She smiled at him again. He smiled back, but looked a little nervous, like he didn't understand what she was happy about. 'What?'

'It's like I always said. You've been given the exact right resources you'll need to defeat this army. Anyone can turn out to be a prophesied chosen one - even me - but what are the chances of that chosen one having a petty criminal past and the knowledge to hotwire cars, meaning they have the know how to fiddle around with mystical-techno hybrid weapons and work out how they work? _That _is a Francis Doyle special. Just like the cryptic puzzle solving, just like the little book of skeevy contacts - everything you need to get the job done.'

'I am pretty special,' he agreed, mock seriously. She giggled. 'You are! Although - you know - I think props are in order for me too, today. Who would have thought that I - Daddy's little princess - would lead the huddled masses in a worker's revolution and have them throw off their chains and overthrow their masters?'

'You're right,' he chuckled along with her. 'We'll have to change your name. Cordelia Diana _Lenin_ Chase. The _real_ people's princess.'

They laughed together, and she snuggled back down into his arms. They sat there quietly for a moment, Doyle stroking her hair. 'We're still in danger - aren't we?' she said, after a long while.

He nodded, 'we are... But we'll face it. We'll be OK. That's a promise from The Promised One.'

'Doyle … did you notice the time? We were down there for hours but … when we got back up here no time had passed at all. We only went through the portal an hour ago - and we've been back here for half of that time.'

'Time passes differently in different dimensions,' he reminded her. 'Remember what Raelif said, back on Briole? A young person can die of old age down in The Scourge's dimension when up here only a day has passed.'

'So all those people we saved - they've only been missing for 24 hours - at the most?'

'I guess.'

She frowned. 'There must have been so many more, taken yesterday, last week, last month - and they all died. When hardly any time had passed, they'd lived decades down there - in misery. We couldn't save them.'

He held her tightly, and kissed the side of her head, just above her ear - the only part he could reach - 'we can't save them all,' he told her, 'but hopefully we've put a stop to any more people sufferin' the same way.'

'Is that enough?'

'It has to be.'

* * *

The elevator door opened - and Angel stepped into the lobby. Gunn was screaming at two of the demons, whilst Lilah was speaking with their leader. Amanda was left alone in the conference room. 'We sought this child for decades - we're not letting go of it now,' one demon yelled.

'You aint got nothin' without the mother's consent,' Gunn yelled back.

'That's exactly what we have.'

'Oh yeah? show it to me!'

'It's an agreement in principle. The child is ours.'

'The lawyers here can tear that apart in a courtroom,' Gunn shouted right into the demon's face, 'just watch them.'

'But we're paying you!'

'We're not taking your money.'

Angel glanced across at where Lilah was trying to calm the leader of the Fell down, listening to his concerns with a grave expression on her face. But the leader would not be calmed. 'If this gets fouled here by that lunatic, our hordes will fall on this place There won't be so much as eye tooth left of any of them!'

'Yes well … that would be more Angel's business than mine.' She gestured him over, he sighed and joined them. Fred was alive - which was indescribably wonderful, but meant that his plans to get noticed by the Circle of the Black Thorn had been seriously scuppered. So he needed to do this. There was a pang in his heart, but he hid it well.

'She won't make it through another day,' one of the demons shouted at Gunn.

'You think we can't protect her?'

'The Fell are everywhere. We are a force of nature'

Angel put his hand on Gunn's shoulder. 'Gunn. The baby belongs to the Fell.'

'What?' he stared at him in disbelief. 'She hasn't signed anything - there's nothing on paper.'

But Angel ignored his protests, 'gentlemen,' he ushered the demons back inside the conference room.

'Angel, man, what are you doing?'

He looked Gunn straight in the eye. 'What we're supposed to, serve our clients,' and then he closed the conference room doors in Gunn's face - shutting him out completely.

* * *

**A/N - I've run our of steam, so there will have to be a hopefully not too long hiatus whilst I psych myself up the write the last few episodes. When we return the next ep will be 'The Girl in Question'. **


	78. The Girl in Question: Part One

**The Girl in Question**

_Part One_

The Scourge were gathered in the warehouse that was now their only base of operations. Their commander was addressing them, the soldiers stood to attention in lines - though their number was now punctuated with the few guards who had escaped from their own dimension before the portal had been sealed off.

'The Promised One and the slayer - a mangy half breed and a human - walked into our world, unchallenged, and took it from us!' the commander roared at them. 'Destroyed everything we have been working towards, smashed our beacons, severed our connection to our brethren. Are we to allow such an insult to stand?'

'Never!' there were assorted cries from the ranks.

'They say this so-called Promised One is prophesied in the holy texts of the halfbreeds,' the commander said, 'one destined to rise up and save their people from The Scourge - from us! But we have prophecies too. _And a bright line shall shine upon the earth and cleanse the world of all who are unworthy. And The Scourge will rule the land. _Was that not written back when _we_ still owned this earth? Back before the plague of humanity infested our dark Eden like locusts? Well, brothers - we shall take it back. And I say now is the time!'

There was cheering from the assembled soldiers - and then a giant beacon, over 15 feet tall was pushed out where everyone could see it. 'This,' the commander gestured to it. 'This shall be our bright light. It shall be our ticket to glory. This is our weapon that the so called _Promised One _failed to destroy. And it shall be his undoing. When the beacon achieves full strength and detonates its cleansing light will reach ten miles in every direction!'

The soldiers cheered again. The commander waited until they were quiet before he spoke again: 'And the halfbreed - and his slayer - must not be allowed to stand in our way.'

* * *

'How's the fish?' Wesley asked. Fred swallowed and nodded her head, 'good - it's good. Though I'm more lookin' forward to the dessert trolley later.'

He smiled, a small smirk of quiet delight. 'Oh yes? What were you thinking of having?'

'Oh I don't know - maybe the Belgian Waffles with ice cream, or the Red Velvet Cake with ice cream, or the Boston Cream Pie with ice cream…' they both laughed.

'Whatever you choose - I think it's clear that ice cream will be playing a major role tonight.'

'And lots of it! Aw heck - maybe I'll just have all three.'

'Well then - maybe you shouldn't finish your fish? Leave some room for afters.'

'Oh there's always room for ice cream.' They laughed again and then - still smiling - returned to their plates.

Wesley stared across the table at Fred. There was a candle on their table, every table in the restaurant had one, and it cast a rosy glow which bathed her whole skin, lighting her up like the sunrise. In this light, he could barely make out the single blue lock of hair which was all that was left of her recent possession. He could pretend it wasn't there - pretend it had never happened. She was completely Fred again - just as he had imagined her.

She noticed him staring at her and smiled back, a little shyly. 'What are you thinking?' she asked.

'I'm just thinking how perfect this is. How perfect you are.'

She blushed, visible even in the candle light. He reached across and took her hand. 'I never believed - never dared hope - that we could have this. That I could … that I could get a chance to be close to you again.'

'I guess the last few weeks have been pretty intense - and hard on us all.'

He retracted his hand and shook his head. 'Let's not talk about it,' he said, hurriedly.

'But we have to talk about it! It's a part of me now.'

'It's not,' he told her, 'Illyria is gone, I brought you back.'

'You did … but things are different now.'

He shook his head again, 'they don't have to be. Everything can go back the way it was.'

She smiled ruefully, 'you really think it's that simple?'

'I do.'

She sighed, deeply, and stared around the room - her eyes fixing on the ferns that were dotted between the tables, in decoration. 'You know - if there's one thing I miss about … well, Illyria - I guess - I miss the plants. She could talk to them. Hear what they had to say and understand it all. "The song of the green" she called it. And it _was _just like they were singing. It was beautiful. They have really fascinating lives, you know? Plants. If I could have chosen one power of hers to keep - I wouldda chosen that one.'

'You're better off without any of them,' he assured her. But she only shrugged. 'Maybe - 'cept I still got bits. I'm still stronger and faster than I was. I'm not saying it won't ever come in handy but … the plant thing was nice.' Then she noticed how tense he was, how straight and stiff he was sitting in his seat. 'Wesley - does it make you uncomfortable? Me talking about all this?'

'I just want us to put it all behind us,' he said. 'This is the start of something brand new - our future. I don't want to dwell on the past.'

'Says the man who spends his days reading ancient texts from the twelfth century,' she said, trying to lighten the mood. He smiled. 'OK,' he conceded, 'sometimes the past has it's uses. But we're young … ish. And in love. The future is all that matters to us.'

'If you say so.'

...

When they'd finished - and Fred had her dessert and then coffee with mints, they paid up and left. 'You know it's not late,' Wesley said to her, 'we could go somewhere else … or you could come back to mine.'

But she smiled apologetically and shook her head. 'Rain check? I still get tired quite quickly. It's like I'm getting over a big illness or something - I don't wanna overdo it.'

'Oh,' he tried not to look disappointed, 'well, I'll see you tomorrow, then.'

'Yeah.'

And he kissed her goodnight and helped her into a taxi.

* * *

The next morning, Fred was nowhere to be seen. Wesley, however, was in Angel's office, along with the rest of the men - trying to make him see reason. He wasn't really listening - and that was making them all very frustrated.

'Your behaviour - the things you're doing, Angel - this isn't like you,' Wesley told him. Gunn nodded along, 'better believe it man. The Angel I know wouldn't go round handing babies to demon cults.'

'And the Angel of old didn't hand humans over to be tortured by demon warlocks, either,' Lorne added.

'Angel - that child will now become a human sacrifice to a clan of very nasty demons,' Wesley's voice was heated, and his face was flushed red as he tried to make his point. 'Imagine if that were Connor.'

'It's not Connor,' Angel replied, blankly.

'No - but once upon a time there were enough demon sects out there interested in getting their hands on him. You were very vigorous in your treatment of them. This child is just as innocent as he was, just as helpless.'

'His parents aren't in a position to care for him, I was.'

'Oh right - daddy's gone goo goo and momma's got her hands full looking after him - so therefore the only option is to hand the kid over to a bunch of demon types who are gonna eat it. _Wanker_.'

'Your input is not necessary Spike … it's never necessary.'

'Well someone has to get through to you!' Wesley yelled.

'No,' Angel slammed his hands down on the desk and then glared at them all. 'You all have to listen to me. You're my employees. I'm your boss. That means you do as I tell you. You accept my decisions and you do not challenge my authority. Not in here - not anywhere.'

'We're also your friends, bubchen,' Lorne said to him softly, 'don't go forgetting that.'

Angel glared at him - and then turned his eyes to glare at the rest of them. They all stared back, only Lorne's seemed to show even a hint of compassion. Everyone else was completely frustrated and angry and tense. Judging by their faces, it seemed like he had very few friends left in the room, indeed. It wouldn't be long now - they were close to the edge - wouldn't take much for them to ... tip over. Just one more action - one more way he could prove he had gone to the dark side … and then they would be ready.

He opened his mouth, ready to reply … but was cut off by the phone ringing. He snatched it up, 'yeah?' He listened, feeling the eyes of his friends on him - they were still watchful and wary, but as he heard what the man on the other end of the line had to say - he found he didn't care. What he was told was bigger and more important than anything else. 'Yeah .. thanks.' He slammed the phone down and got to his feet, pulling on his coat.

'Angel, who was -?' But Angel ignored the watcher and headed for the door. 'I need to go.' And then the door closed and - just like that, he was gone.

The team all frowned at each other. 'Drama queen,' Spike muttered. 'The big guy never changes - even when he's off his rocker, he can't resist a good flounce.'

'What kind of news you think got him flouncing like that?' Gunn asked. Wesley moved round to the seat behind Angel's desk and picked up the phone. 'Let's find out.'

He dialled to find out what the last number that had called that phone was and then scribbled it down on a pad. It was long. 'It's an overseas call,' he told the others, as he punched the numbers into the keypad. He finished dialling and the tone became ringing … after a little while the phone was picked up at the other end.

'Yes - hello - my name is Wesley Wyndam Pryce, I'm a close associate of Angel's. I believe you just called him … what was that regarding?' He listened intently, nodding in understanding a few times. Like they had watched Angel, the others now stared at him. 'Yes - thank you, Good bye.' He put the phone down and turned to them, his face serious. It was mostly Spike he aimed his words at. He was the one to whom this would matter the most. 'It's Buffy,' he told them.

* * *

Cordelia checked her purse for her chequebook for the thousandth time that morning. She was going for her final dress fitting, today - and now would be the time to stump up the cash for it. Not that she was paying full price, she had haggled herself a decent discount from the boutique she had modelled for - but still, if she didn't pay today then she would be getting married in her jeans. And that _was not _going to happen.

'OK,' she left the bedroom and headed into the living area, where Doyle was sitting at the dining table with his set of mini screwdrivers spread across the surface. 'I'll be gone for most of the day,' she bent down to give him a kiss. 'Be good - and try not to get kidnapped or captured … or killed.'

'I'll try my best to stay perfectly safe at my own dining room table,' he promised her, his voice laden with sarcasm.

'You act like bad stuff doesn't always happen to you when I leave you alone for five minutes!' She gave him another kiss. 'But not today, promise?'

'Scout's honour,' he raised three fingers in salute and waved them vaguely in her direction.

'Isn't that the _girl _scout salute?' she asked, frowning.

'It's the same salute!'

She snorted disbelievingly, kissed him one more time and then let her eyes fall on what he was working on. He had the miniature beacon he had stolen from The Scourge's dimension out on the table, and was taking it apart in an attempt to see how it worked, and to see if he couldn't find a way to reverse the magic input. Fred had said it was all done with basic wiring. Cordelia shook her head, 'and for the love of god, please don't melt yourself with that thing.'

'Now that I really do promise - careful is my middle name.'

'After Francis?'

'After Stamina. Allen Francis Stamina **Careful** Doyle. I'm a man of many middle names, Cordelia.'

'You're a man of many idiocies,' she laughed - and, with one last kiss, left the apartment and headed out into the street.

* * *

'Son of a bitch!' Spike stormed out of Angel's office and into the lobby, but the other vampire was nowhere to be seen. 'Harm!' he barked at the receptionist, 'what happened to El Foreheado?'

'You mean Angel? - He just took off. Total black mood … so no change there,' Harmony replied.

Spike grit his teeth and rolled his eyes. 'Where did he go, Harmony?'

'Uh - he told me to get the jet fuelled and ready for takeoff. He said Italy…' She shrugged and tilted her head as if considering things. 'I would have thought he'd be more excited about going … remember how we were supposed to go to France?'

But Spike ignored her and turned back to the others, 'I'm going after him - whatever's happened to Buffy … no sodding way am I letting him ride in there like the hero of the hour.'

'Uh - Spike?' Harmony said to him, he turned back to look at her. 'No way will you catch him,' she said. 'He took the helicopter out to the airfield. The jet's as good as gone.'

'Wolfram and Hart has more than one jet, though, right?' Gunn said. Harmony nodded. 'Well - make the call, fuel that one for Spike.'

'I need Angel's clearance to do that.'

'So give it,' Spike told her - 'I'm going after him,' and he marched off to the elevators and disappeared inside. Harmony shook her head, sadly, even as she picked up the phone to put in the call. 'Slayer chasing,' she said, 'he never changes.'

* * *

Angel leaned back in his seat, as his jet took off. The amount of cross Atlantic flying he'd done these past few months, it might just be easier to set up a base of operations closer to Europe. He sighed … Buffy. After all this time - here he was going back to her - again.

She was in danger, so his contact told him. Not that she wasn't always in danger, that was part of the vampire slayer gig, but this was worse danger than usual. He couldn't leave her to face it alone.

The Immortal had been spotted near Rome. He snorted with disgust. The Immortal. The foulest evil hell had ever vomited forth. And an even bigger pain in the ass than Spike was. And this was just his M.O - position himself close to a woman Angel loved, lure the vampire to himself - and then he would kill Buffy and Angel in one fell swoop. Well, he could try - that was his plan, no doubt, but Angel had plans of his own.

The Immortal might be good - but so was Angel and, after all these years, he was confident he could finally take him. He pulled a vial of powder out of his pocket. He had stopped by the Wolfram and Hart poison department on the way out and this one … this one, he was told, was particularly nasty. Once it was breathed in, it had enough power to kill anyone - no matter how immortal they thought they were. Sicarius Powder. Even Angel needed to be careful around it. It was orangey - and glittered in its vial. Angel would need to find a way to administer it.

Of course, he would much rather go with his patented burst of sudden violence. Beat The Immortal bloody and then slice his head off with a sword. But … if it were that easy, he would have done it centuries ago. If it were that easy - he would just leave Buffy to do it. The Immortal was way too powerful to be taken down by a mere fight to the death. But now Angel had access to all the potions, poisons and diseases that a company like Wolfram and Hart had on file, that balanced the scales a little bit. More than a little bit. It tipped them in his favour.

After staring at the vial for a few moments, holding it up to the light so he could examine it better, he slipped it back inside his pocket. It wasn't just the danger The Immortal posed to Buffy, or the audacity of his trying to harm her - hoping to lure Angel out that way - which made the vampire determined to kill him. He had other reasons too. Bigger reasons.

Fred was alive. She was fine - better than fine - and would presumably continue to be so. Angel couldn't regret that. He loved Fred. Having her back - having her be herself, knowing she was safe - it meant everything … but it also bore a hole right through the hull of his plans and scuttled his ship.

He needed to get into The Circle of the Black Thorn, needed to get them to notice him. And - as much as it had pained him, as much as it had shredded his heart to do it - he had been planning on using Fred's death as his foot in the door. In order to gain The Circle's attention, he needed to kill a trusted Lieutenant. And Fred was already dead - he had intended to take credit for that. But now she was herself again … and Angel was not willing to sacrifice any member of his family in order to get himself noticed. Having them turn against him was one thing - that was part of the plan. But their safety, their lives, was non-negotiable.

But the Immortal … he was … actually no one was quite sure what he was. Not a vampire, that was for sure. Angel had heard rumours he was some kind of ancient pagan god living amongst them - he didn't know he believed that. But he _was_ ancient - and powerful, very powerful. And infamous amongst all demonic circles. No doubt including The Black Thorn.

The man who killed The Immortal … any secret society would sit up and take notice of that.

This whole thing - going to Rome, The Immortal making himself known again after so long, deliberately baiting Angel … giving him an excuse to kill him … it felt like The Powers were giving him a gift. Maybe that wasn't so surprising - he was fighting on their side after all, he was following their orders…

Everything was so complicated - his whole life - and the way his past always came back to haunt him. It made his head swim sometimes, trying to keep up with it all - trying not to slip up. It was a lot of stress ... man, he wanted a drink. He unbuckled his seat-belt and headed to the couches at the back of the jet and raided the fridge of all it's miniature whisky bottles. But, after about 8, he had to admit Spike was right - you couldn't get drunk off of these.

So here he was, headed back to Italy after over a hundred years, to fight for the woman he loved and assassinate an Immortal something or other … he could only hope this visit would go better than the last time he was in Rome.

...

_Angelus grunted as he felt his brain stumble back into consciousness - and immediately wished he was still blacked out. He was in some form of underground room - a cellar or a dungeon - and was chained to the ceiling, dangling by his wrists from his manacles so that his feet barely skimmed the floor. And, for some reason, he had been stripped to his underwear. _

'_Ugh!' he grunted again, 'William,' he swung himself to the side so he could nudge the unconscious vampire beside him. 'Ugh. bloody hell,' he heard William slur. And then he was properly awake and aware of his surroundings. 'That right bastard!'_

'_The Immortal thinks he can do this to us?' Angelus said. _

'_He doesn't know who he's dealing with.'_

'_Well he's about to find out,' he began to pull on his restraints, trying to tug himself free. _

'_He's gonna curse the day he ever crossed purpose with Angelus,' William said, also dragging as hard as he could on the chains, trying to yank them from the ceiling. _

'_And William the Bloody.'_

'_We'll see just how Immortal he is when we're done with him.' He was grunting, still pulling on the chains. _

'_We'll carve him up like a Sunday Roast and make him watch as we feast on his steaming flesh.' They both stopped talking as they tugged and pulled and yanked with all their might, grunting and twisting and trying to work themselves free. 'How're you doin'?' Angelus asked at last, slumping down inside his shackles, defeated. _

'_Bugger,' was William's only reply, as he too failed to free himself._

_The door opened, then, and a man in a fine suit walked in, flanked by two bodyguards carrying crossbows. Angelus began to yell at him as soon as he saw him. 'Your master send you to do his dirty work? Ferry us to hell, then. We'll save a spot for him, next to the fire - the mangy, dunglickin…'_

_He was cut off by the man slapping him in the face with a leather glove. Angelus shook his head and blinked. 'Bit over the top there, are ya?' _

'_His benevolence, The Immortal, wishes to convey his regrets at having detained you,' when the man spoke it was with a thick Italian accent. He took out a key and began to unlock first Angelus' and then William's chains. 'But your recent actions against his concerns merited stiff reprimand.'_

'_This is our city, we were here first,' Angelus snarled. _

'_No - actually he was here first, 300 years ago. And now he's back. You will leave this city tonight and never return, under a penalty of death so swift that…'_

_Angelus' arm snapped out and broke the man's neck with his wrist. Then he glowered at the bodyguards aiming their crossbows. 'Go ahead, take your best shot. I'll snatch your little wee sticks out of the air and spend the next fortnight shovin' 'em slowly up your arse.' He glowered a bit more - and the bodyguards quailed under his stare and turned and ran. _

_The vampires laughed, and went to put their clothes back on. 'Ah - look what they did to my shirt,' Angelus complained, holding up the ruined item. _

'_His benevolence, The Immortal,' William said, mocking the dead man - and mocking The Immortal himself - with his titles. _

'_Is in for a shock, he is,' Angelus said, pulling on his breeches. 'There's gonna be a reckoning … after a good meal and a long rest in the arms of…'_

_..._

'_...Darla!' The two vampires stared down at her in horror. She lay sprawled, naked, face down in the bed - practically comatose. Her hair was all dishevelled, tossed against the pillow like threads of gold. 'What did they do to her?' William breathed._

* * *

Spike lounged back on the sofa in the private jet, his feet up on the coffee table, and necked the miniature bottles of Jack one after the other. What a bleeding git Angel was, he thought to himself, shaking his head gloomily. This was just like him - secretly keeping tabs on Buffy, outsourcing his own stalking … he shook his head again. That was low. And then - when the slayer was in danger - off the mighty forehead flounced, to be the hero of the hour without even telling Spike there was trouble. Afraid of the competition - that's what it was, Angel had always been afraid of the competition. Liked to be the big man, but only ever got there by cheating.

So now, here Spike was, slayer chasing - when he had sworn off that whole caper on the grounds he didn't want to undo his grand sacrifice from the year before. Buffy - as far as he knew - still thought he was dead. Well, she was going to have a shock when he stumbled through her front door to put a stop to Angel being the one to rescue her. And then all his hard work would be undone. Bloody typical. Bloody Angel.

He downed another bottle of whisky. You really couldn't get drunk off these - no matter how many you had. Or, at least, he couldn't anyway, downside of a vampire constitution. But maybe it was for the best - he'd need a clear head, need his wits about him … he leaned his head back and allowed himself to remember his last, fateful time in Italy.

...

_Spike and Drusilla stood at the bar, drinking martinis. Him in his double breasted suit and sunglasses, her in her mock turtleneck sweater, pencil skirt and beret. The hippest of beatniks at the coolest of scenes. He nodded his head 'Ciao,'_

'_Ciao,' Drusilla said. _

'_Ciao.' _

'_Ciao'_

_..._

Spike smiled to himself … good times.

* * *

There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs. 'Did y' forget somethin'?' Doyle called out, without looking up from his fiddly wire work, assuming it was Cordelia returning early. When there wasn't a reply he finally glanced round - and his face broke into a wide but surprised grin. He pushed the chair back and got to his feet. 'Fred!'

She stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking a bit awkward, though she smiled when she saw how pleased he was to see her.

'We hadn't heard from you in days - we thought maybe…'

'I was dead?' she finished.

'Well … that maybe you'd lost the fight to Illyria … Cordelia tried to call. But look at you - y' eyes are brown and everythin'. I'm guessin' that hell god realised she'd messed with the wrong girl, huh?'

'Oh,' she blushed a little, and smiled even more awkwardly, 'Wesley saved me - my equations I used to solve interdimensional travel also helped him build some kind of weapon that sucked Illyria right out of me. She's gone for good, mostly. There are echoes … traces … but I'm ninety … two percent me again.'

'Well 92% is pretty damn good, come on in,' he ushered her inside and she took a seat at the dining table, across from where he was working. 'I'll get y' a drink,' he said to her, heading for the kitchen. 'I'm afraid you've just missed Cordy.'

'Oh - I'll catch her later, it was actually you I was hoping to speak to.'

He looked surprised. He knew - out of everyone - he'd always been the member of the team Fred was least close to, even after their going on the run together the previous year. 'Yeah?'

'Yeah,' she twisted her head so she could watch him making the coffees in the kitchen, 'I was kinda hoping for a guy's perspective on something.'

'And there aren't enough guys over at Wolfram and Hart?'

She bit her lip and looked a little nervous. 'Well … I guess I wanted the perspective of a guy who was in a happy, healthy relationship…'

That made Doyle laugh, 'and there certainly aren't any o' them over at Wolfram and Hart!' He carried the coffees over to the table and placed one down in front of Fred before putting the other in his own spot. He took his seat again and picked up his miniature screwdriver, 'you don't mind if I keep on workin' while we talk?' he checked. She shook her head, 'good,' he told her, ''cause I could maybe do with a second pair o' eyes makin' sure I don't melt myself. Cordy would never forgive me, if I melted myself right before the wedding… So, what was it that you wanted to know that you couldn't ask girlfriendless Gunn, loveless Lorne and the stalker twins? I'm guessing it's about Wesley…?'

'Yeah,' she nodded, 'it is - sorta.'

'So fire away.'

'OK…' she took another sip of her coffee, bit her lip again and wrinkled her brow as if trying to decide where to start. Doyle watched her, patiently. 'OK…' she nodded, 'when did you first know you loved Cordelia?'

* * *

The sun was already well below the horizon, in Italy, when Angel landed - they were nine hours ahead of California time - it was like he'd lost an entire day. The private airfield was quiet, he'd only just stepped off the staircase and was crossing to the car waiting for him when there was the sudden deafening sound of another incoming jet from overhead. He threw his hands up to try and shield himself - his hair and coat flapped around insanely in the breeze and the grit from the ground whipped up like a sandstorm. And then - just as suddenly - the jet was on the ground and taxiing to a stop. Angel stared at it - as it pulled up next to his own - they looked … very similar.

'Oi!' the door of the second jet was ripped open without ceremony and - would you believe it? - it was only Captain Peroxide standing on the other side. Angel sighed deeply and swore under his breath. Spike didn't even bother waiting for the staircase - he just bounded down from the doorway - landing with a thud and then storming towards Angel without breaking stride. 'What the bloody hell is this?' he yelled.

'Go home, Spike, you're not needed here,' he said through gritted teeth.

'Oh you'd like that wouldn't you? You great ponce,' as he reached Angel, he gave the other vampire a vicious shove. Angel stumbled back, 'hey! - and don't call me a ponce.' He shoved Spike back. Spike hit him. 'So this is your game?' he accused, 'hire some poor sap to do your stalking for you and then scurry off to Buffy when my back is turned.'

'It's not like that.' He hit Spike.

'Is that a fact?' another punch.

'It's The Immortal, Spike.' Punch.

Spike spat out some blood, chuckled darkly and then hit out again. 'Oh right - that old bastard - and you think you're gonna ride in like the big hero, save the day...'

'Like you're not thinking the same thing.' Punch. 'Go home, Spike, You're only gonna make things worse.' He gripped Spike round the throat and raised his right fist ready to deliver a stinging blow.

'I'm not leaving you to rescue Buffy and get the props, when you're the one stalking her like a creeper,' Spike grunted. His own hand shot out and gripped Angel's throat in return. He too raised his right fist. They stood there for a moment, hands around each other's throat, fists raised ready for the knockout blow - a tense moment as the world waited to see who would get there first ...

When suddenly they were interrupted by the sound of a clearing throat. They both turned to look - without letting go of each other or dropping their fists. A man was standing there - flanked by two bodyguards holding crossbows. He was wearing a sharp suit and when he spoke it was with a heavy Italian accent. 'Angelus - William - welcome to Italia. His benevolence, The Immortal, wishes to convey his regrets at not being here to meet you himself. However he would like to remind you that, according to your agreement of 1894, you are both banished from the confines of Roma under the penalty of death so swift that you will be ash before your second footstep crosses the city limits.'

The two vampires finally dropped their grip on each other and turned to look at this man. Angel wrinkled his brow. 'The Immortal … knows we're here? already?'

The man smiled. 'His benevolence knows everything, and he bids you leave before things get … ugly.'

'No way,' Spike shook his head, 'I'm here to save Buffy.'

'_We're_ here to save Buffy,' Angel corrected him.

But the man only smiled again. 'Ah yes - your girlfriend - no. Let me explain. You will leave now - or you will die.'

'I've died for Buffy before.'

'His benevolence, The Immortal, promises to you he will not harm her. You have his assurances, and you may leave without any unpleasantness - he will allow that.'

But that only made the two vampires snort in derision, they didn't trust the words of a bastard like The Immortal. And they weren't leaving without making sure Buffy was OK.

'Well if you insist. His benevolence is not without mercy. He will allow you entrance into his city … on one condition.'

The two vampires glanced at each other, and then Angel sighed with resignation. Even if he was inclined to believe that Buffy was in no danger - which he wasn't - he couldn't leave without killing The Immortal anyway. His whole plan for bringing down Wolfram and Hart depended on it. 'Name it,' he said.

* * *

Cordelia parked up the Plymouth and then stuffed coins into the meter. She wasn't sure how long this would take and she didn't want to spend this appointment worrying she would get a ticket. This was her final dress fitting - she wanted to enjoy the moment. After today, the next time she wore her dress would be her wedding day.

Closing up her purse and slinging it across her shoulder, she looked both ways and then crossed the busy street. She was grinning as she stepped onto the sidewalk and headed for the little boutique, with it's frilly awning over the windows and it's white dresses on display. Though there was a definite sense of butterflies in her tummy - this was all getting very real. Wonderful - the stuff of dreams - but very real.

A little bell above the door of the boutique rang as she opened it and stepped inside… completely oblivious to the two foot soldiers of The Scourge who watched her from the shadows.


	79. The Girl in Question: Part Two

_Part Two_

A slow smile spread across Doyle's face as he remembered the early days of his time with Cordy - how young and fearless she had been, how exciting it all was, how unpredictable. 'Well,' he said, turning it all over in his mind as he felt Fred's expectant eyes on him, 'what you got to remember is, me and Cordelia met in a hail of gunfire.' His smile grew wider, he dropped his screwdriver, folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. 'I'd just crashed the car into a … _really_ good gate. She was runnin' from this vamp exec that wanted to eat her. Angel had been shot - the whole thing was a mess. And of course - once we got back here - I had to dig the bullets outta the big guy.' He pointed to the brick pillar by the kitchen, 'right over there it was, so … I mean, it wasn't really until the next mornin' that I really looked at her, y'know? Saw her as anything other than the damsel our strapping hero was rescuing.'

'And that was when you knew?'

'No - not exactly. But she was still there the next morning, she'd stayed the night with the dark avenger, which tipped me off that maybe she wasn't just "girl-who-needs-rescuin' number 12" - you know? That she mattered - to Angel. You know - it's funny. That night she'd been wearin' this strappy little red dress and I barely glanced at her. I arrived at the office the next mornin' and she's in Angel's pants and shirt and I realised what an unbelievable knock out she was. The most beautiful woman in the world - standin' there - doin' the dusting. Like she belonged.'

'So that was when you realised you loved her?'

'No, no - you're rushing it! This thing was nice and slow - and really fast at the same time. So - where was I? - yeah, there she was with her feather duster and Angel's clothes and I … didn't even know what to say to her. I think I just kinda stared. Luckily for me, though, Cordelia never doesn't know what to say - and she started talkin' and boy …' he whistled, his eyes had a dreamy far off look to them now - as well as his smile, 'can Cordelia talk? Within ten minutes I knew her entire history with Buffy - with Angel - what she thought about L.A - what she thought about the guy who tried to eat her … and then she asked who the hell I was and how did I know Angel? So … barely even able to get my words out - I told her about my visions and the mission … and that's when her eyes lit up with the possibility of making money.'

Fred laughed, and Doyle broke off from his storytelling to give a fond chuckle. Cordelia's mercenary nature was always one of her most easily recognisable traits. 'After that - well, it's always a roller coaster with Cordy. Some days I was madly turned on by her, others I was flat out terrified of her … sometimes the terror turned me on. It was a wild ride. But … I was in a bad place when I met up with Angel, I hadn't come to terms with my demon half, I drank too much, I owed big money to bad trouble and it was like everyone around me, even people I passed in the street, could see what a mess I was. A down and out. Cordelia was the first person in four years to talk to me like I was a human being. Made me feel like a real person.'

He unfolded his arms and picked up his screwdriver, getting back to fiddling with the little beacon. 'Even Angel's first ever words to me were "you don't smell human" … and people call Cordelia rude! Cordelia just being Cordelia helped bring me back to myself again - 'cause there was no way she was ever gonna put up with all the maudlin self pitying I'd been doin' before I met her. And her treatin' me like I was a man … it got me acting and feeling like a man.' His smile was more serious, more wry, now. 'I don't think there's any way I can ever really thank her for that.'

'So she saved you?' Fred asked.

He shook his head. 'Well, I like to think I saved myself, yeah? But she definitely helped. She reminded me who I was - underneath it all - and she literally helped when she paid off my debts and let me pay her back in my own time. I mean - she occasionally threatened to break my legs - but she never went through with it.' His smile had become lighter again.

But Fred was frowning, her brow furrowed. 'But - you still haven't told me the exact moment you knew.'

'That's because I don't know when it was,' he admitted. 'She was this whole bundle of contradictions: fearless and vulnerable at the same time, bullheaded and blunt but so kind underneath all it, she never shied away from insulting me but she was the only person who didn't treat me like the lowlife I was … getting to know her was the most fun I ever had. I wouldn't want to pin down one moment - out of all of them - and say that one was the special one. It was a process, they were all special. I remember the moment I realised that if I ever got my shot with her we could have something really special - end up where we are today, but…'

'When was that?' Fred interrupted.

He raised an eyebrow, but he answered, 'I dunno - maybe 8 months in? I'd been kidnapped - my fault - she'd rescued me. I was really badly beaten up and she was fixing my cuts and bruises. She'd found out I was a demon - I'd been hiding it for so long - and it didn't matter to her. She just laid down this plan for how she was gonna help get my life back on track and how - maybe when I got there - we could be together. So that's what we did - and the rest is history. But there's not one moment when I knew I loved her. It just happened. So … why did you wanna talk about this?'

Fred picked up her coffee cup and took another sip, Doyle wasn't sure - but he thought she did that so she could hide behind it. 'I guess … I'm just wondering how a relationship gets to the point where you guys are. How you know. What it's all supposed to look like.' She hesitated for a moment - a question forming on her lips, but she looked reluctant to ask.

'You OK?' he checked.

She nodded. And then blurted her question out. 'Do you think Cordelia's perfect?'

'Yes,' he answered without hesitation. He glanced up to meet Fred's eyes. 'Just last night - as she lay there snoring like a pneumatic drill, keepin' me awake and droolin' on my pillow I thought … _this_ is what perfection looks like.' His face cracked into a grin. 'Of course she's not perfect. No one is.'

Fred was smiling too … though there was a hint of worry behind her grin at Cordy's expense. 'So you love her despite her flaws?'

He tilted his head to the side, considering this, his mouth twisting into a wry line of thought as he weighed up her question. 'No…' he said slowly, 'not exactly - it's more … I guess I love her flaws. They're a part of her - and I love everythin' about her. It's all Cordy - the good, the bad and the monstrously rude. Even the absolutely _disgustin'_ fact that she likes pineapple on pizza. You can't have one bit without the other. And she'd deny it - but she's the same with me. Underneath all her insults - she's got a real soft spot for the way I dress. Not that she'll ever admit that … but then she won't ever admit she snores either.'

* * *

The smartly dressed man examined his impeccable cuffs, knocking off an imaginary speck of dust before smiling up at the two vampires and naming The Immortal's price. 'His benevolence, The Immortal, always allows - should they choose it - those he has banished to perform a task for him. To go on a mission - a quest. If you survive the quest, he will not kill you for returning to the city … or you can leave now and we speak of this no more.'

Spike snorted. 'I think we're more than capable of fulfilling this little mission, Mario, I'll do your quest for you and then I'll rescue Buffy…'

'_We,_' Angel hissed his correction.

'Right - we will do your quest for you and then I'll rescue Buffy. So spill. What's the particulars?'

The man never stopped smiling, it made Angel yearn for the days when he would just snap his wrist out and break the neck of the human flunkeys of The Immortal … but he couldn't do that anymore. He had a soul now… kind of a pain. But it was what it was.

'His benevolence, The Immortal, wishes for you to bring to him his golden scales of justice. Your lives currently hang in the balance. If you can find his scales .. then they can balance in your favour, no?'

The two vampires glanced at each other. 'Where did he leave them?' Angel asked.

'You know they say all roads lead to Roma…'

'Great,' Spike rolled his eyes, 'sounds like we're getting a riddle.'

The man wheezed a little laugh, 'Si si - all roads lead to Roma - but only one is the real path to the city. Out there, deep underground, in a pagan temple surrounded by the bodies of the righteous, his scales are guarded by a fearsome warrior. Find your way to the temple, kill the guard and get the scales.'

Angel shook his head, wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. 'Fine, no problem - we'll get the scales.'

'_Lodevole -_ his benevolence, The Immortal, will be waiting for you at the Piazza Navona at midnight. You will give him the scales there and he will let you live. _In bocca al lupo _Gentlemen.' He gave them a deep, but not very sincere, bow and then walked away - trailed by his crossbow holding lackeys.

Spike watched them go and then turned to Angel, 'well, where the bloody hell do we start with all that?' he asked.

'The Appian way,' Angel replied immediately. 'The road Sulla, Caesar - all of them came down when they marched on Rome. There's catacombs out there. Places Christians in Roman times would bury their dead.'

'Bodies of the righteous,' Spike nodded.

'I'm guessing somewhere, in one of them, there's a temple to an old god that was there before the Christians moved in. We just need to find it.'

'Uh …' Spike was looking less than convinced, 'don't those things go on for miles? We're just gonna blunder around under the earth until we stumble across a pagan temple?'

'You got a better idea?'

'Guess not - how long we got until the meetup?' He grabbed hold of Angel's wrist to look at his watch. 'Four hours? Better get started then.'

'Better had.'

* * *

The men were in Angel's office - it was the biggest and had the best view, and he wasn't there. So it was much more pleasant than normal. But he was still what they were talking about. 'You think Spike caught him?' Gunn asked.

'He was only a matter of minutes behind,' Wesley replied. 'I think it's fair to assume he will catch up with him eventually. Perhaps he will be able to restrain Angel in … whatever it is he plans to do.'

Lorne took a sip of his sea breeze, 'you really think the Spikester will be able to stop our glorious leader from running off and doing something half cocked?'

But Gunn shook his head, 'man I don't know about that. Both the fang twins have a tendency to go at everythin' full cocked … especially when it comes to Buffy.' He caught sight of the look Wesley gave him and raised his shoulders in a shrug of surrender, 'I'm just sayin'...'

'Yes - well - with Angel acting so out of character here, I think we should probably assume that he will take that with him to Europe. Whatever it is making him act this way … I don't think distance will be enough to give him the perspective he needs. Especially if Buffy is truly in danger. That may just be enough to tip him over the edge once and for all'

'You mean you don't think he's gone over the edge yet?' Lorne raised a painted on eyebrow. 'You think there's more edge - after giving a baby away?'

'I think there's more edge.'

'Whoowhee - then I do not wanna see that.'

Wesley cleared his throat, 'quite. In which case we should use this time we have - whilst Angel is away - to really dig around. Try and find a cause for it. Try and find some kind of explanation for why he's …'

'Thrown the baby out with the bathwater?' Gunn finished up for him. Wesley nodded, 'in a manner of speaking.'

'So what do you suggest?' Lorne asked, 'I'm all for digging around, I'm a masters programme in archaeology for digging around … but where do we start?'

'Well…' Wesley was cut off by a knock on the door and Harmony opening it. 'Sorry to interrupt, guys - but there are some people here to see Fred.'

'She isn't here,' Wesley said, distractedly.

'Well - I think they came all the way from Texas to see her. If the accents are anything to go by.'

'Accents? - who?...' he got to his feet and headed out to the lobby, Gunn and Lorne followed on behind him. Fred's parents were standing in the middle of the large, open space - staring around and looking very impressed with what they saw.

'Burkles!' Lorne exclaimed.

Mr. and Mr. Burkle looked over at them then - and their faces split into wide grins as they recognised the men they always heard so much about. 'See, I told you they'd remember us,' Fred's dad said.

'I guess we do make an impression!'

'Let's see we got Wesley and Gunn - aint that right?' Mr. Burkle pointed to the two of them, 'and we aint met before but with those horns, I just know you must be Lorne.'

'And with those doe eyes, I just know this lovely lady must be Fred's younger sister,' Lorne replied. Mrs. Burkle giggled and blushed, 'oh - shush. So where is my daughter? Out saving the world with that handsome Angel fella?'

The men all glanced at each other, 'uh - we're not actually quite sure where she is right now,' Wesley admitted.

* * *

Angel and Spike raised their fists and banged on the apartment door in unison. They would have held their breath as they waited for it to open - apart from the obvious. But still - even breathlessness aside, the air was filled with the crackle of anticipation. 'Let me handle this,' Angel said.

'Bet you'd like to.'

The door began to swing open and both men acutely felt the achingly empty cavity where their heart should be banging in their chest … and then it was just Andrew standing there - wearing a robe and a pair of socks, his hair a dishevelled mess.

Both men felt disappointment burst through them like a deflating balloon. Andrew - on the other hand - was delighted to see who was standing there. He clutched at his own heart. 'Spike! _O mio dio!' _ He threw his arms around the blonde vampire, who stood there as stiff as a wooden board and did not hug back. '_E come un sogno incantevole …' _He released Spike from his embrace and took a step back. 'What are you doing here?'

Angel glowered at him, he hadn't seen Andrew since the vampyre expert - Rupert Giles' top man himself - had double crossed them and taken Dana, the insane slayer, out of their care. After they did all the work of finding and capturing her! 'I was about to ask you the same thing, Andrew,' he said through gritted teeth.

Andrew gave him an unconcerned glance. 'Buffy and Dawn are letting me crash here. My casa was incinerated when that thing happened.'

'What thing?' Spike asked.

'Cultural misunderstanding,' he gave a nervous chuckle. 'Let us speak of more pleasant times. _Entrate pure_. I part my threshold.' Angel and Spike just stared at him. 'I mean my apartment. Obviously.' He turned away - headed back into the apartment and both vampires made to follow him at once - getting stuck in the door as they both tried to go through it at the same time. After a brief tussle, Angel managed to wriggle free and enter first. Spike followed after him - glaring daggers into the other vampire's back.

Andrew was busy trying to straighten the place up a bit, make it more presentable for company. 'So I already had plans but I can cancel them if you guys wanna hang. I could show you Rome at night, if you like, a city of contrast. Anywhere you wanna go, anything you wanna see.'

'Buffy,' both men said, instantaneously.

Andrew looked uncomfortable and glanced between the two of them. 'Right, because you two both -' he nodded and crossed his arms across his chest. 'Yeah, she's not here.'

'Where'd she go?' Angel asked him.

'To meet The Immortal.'

'By herself?' Spike sounded appalled. Andrew shifted uncomfortably. 'I told you I had plans,' he tried to defend himself.

But Angel was already trying to think things through, 'when did she leave?'

'Just missed her.'

'Then we're not too late,' Spike realised. Angel nodded his head, 'it could be worse.'

'You're telling me,' Andrew flopped down on the couch and stretched out. 'Most nights they never leave the house. Just curl up on the couch and snuggle.'

Angel frowned. 'There's snuggling?' he didn't understand. And a second later he wished it had stayed that way - as Andrew elaborated. 'For starters.' Then he seemed to realise something. 'Wait … did you guys not know they were … together?'

Spike turned to stare at Angel. 'It's worse,' he said.

...

_Angelus rushed to the bed, where Darla lay - limp and lifeless, face down in the pillow. 'Darla! Darla!' he rolled her over, 'what have they done? My sweet death.'_

'_Angelus,' her voice was small and exhausted, 'you're back.'_

'_I'd claw my way back from the depths of hell to lay by your side.' He gripped her in his arms and kissed her passionately, before tearing himself away and spitting. He got to his feet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'He's tasted you.'_

'_Who?' William didn't understand, but Angelus flashed him a disgusted look. 'Who do ya think?' _

'_Well that cheeky bastard, had us tossed and then violates your woman.'_

_Angelus looked down at his sire, still lying in the bed, his eyes dark with anger and concern. 'Did he hurt ya?'_

_But she only writhed in the sheets and smiled up at him, a wicked and delighted smile. 'Not until I asked him to.' She saw the look on the boys' faces and rolled her eyes. Wrapping herself in the bedsheet, she stood up and wandered across the room to fetch her robe. 'Oh come on … have you seen him? With the eyes and the chest and the,' she sighed, blissfully, 'immortality.'_

'_We're immortal,' William said - it sounded stupid even to his own ears. And Darla shook her head, dropping the sheet and wrapping her robe around herself. 'Not like him. He's not some common vampire. He's … actually I don't know what he is. A giant. A titan, straddling good and evil and serving no master but his own considerable desires…' she flushed at the memory. 'And spiritual. Did you know he spent 150 years in a monastery in Tibet? Which I suppose explains the desires.' Her eyes flashed wickedly and she smiled her prurient smile again. _

'_He is my arch nemesis,' Angelus told her. She just laughed - a little pityingly, and looked at him like he was a silly little boy. 'Darling, it was just fornication … really great fornication.'_

_William squinted and leaned closer to get a better look at her. 'She's glowing, mate.' _

'_She's not glowing.' _

'_Little bit,' Darla said - her skin still felt as warm as if she had just fed. It had burned beneath his touch - but in a good way. _

_William was starting to see the funny side now. He began to laugh and looked scornfully at his old grandsire. 'Best fit you with a pair of antlers. You've been made a proper cuckold, you have…' he trailed off as Drusilla appeared in the doorway in nothing but a silky negligee, her hair all mussed. 'Time for another pony ride?' she asked Darla hopefully. _

_William stared at her in horror. 'Son of a bitch!' _

_Angelus pointed between the two vampire women, 'the both of ya?' But Darla only shrugged, 'he's insatiable,' she told her boy._

_But Spike was still staring at Drusilla as if his heart would break. 'Drusilla- you let him touch you?'_

_She closed her eyes and swayed, her arms held up and her fingers spread as she remembered what it was like to lie in The Immortal's arms. 'He felt like sunshine.' _

'_That's why he had us tossed,' Angelus realised. 'So he could violate -'_

'_He didn't -' Darla began to interrupt. But her boy wouldn't let her. 'Violate,' he repeated, stabbing his finger in her direction, 'our women.' _

'_Violate in succession,' William agreed. _

'_Concurrently,' Darla amended. Both boy's jaws dropped open then. 'Concurrently?' Angelus asked, his voice a disbelieving but hurt whisper, 'you never let us do that.' _

_Darla only laughed again. She touched Drusilla on the arm and whispered into her ear. 'Come on Dru, let's have a bath so the boys can weep in private.'_

'_Will you hold me under the water?'_

'_If you wish.' And arms wrapped around each other's waists, the two vampire women left their sorry boys behind and went to bathe together. _

_Left alone, Angelus bellowed in anger and hurled a vase of flowers at the opposite wall. 'This is a slight that will not go unmet,' he snarled at William. _

'_Death's too quick.'_

'_Not all deaths are quick.' _

'_What do you have in mind?'_

'_I think it's time The Immortal found out who he's dealing with,' Angelus growled, 'I think it's time for blood vengeance.'_

* * *

Cordelia slid the spaghetti strap up her shoulder and then the attendant zipped her in. 'How's that feel?' the woman asked.

'Perfect, like a glove.' She turned to look in the mirror and admired the beauty of her dress, the way it fell in all the right places and clung to all the right spots … and just how amazing she looked in it. Her face lit up in her thousand kilowatt smile.

'Is it as good as you remember?'

'Better! Oh - it's perfect - thank you.' She swished a little from side to side and watched the way the floaty material moved around her like a soft mist. 'Forget Doyle - I wanna marry me!'

The attendant laughed. 'And everything's good - not too tight, not too loose? Have you thought about what underwear you'll be wearing?'

'Uhuh - I got it sorted. Nothing that will show - or cause bumps.' She peered down at where the shimmering material cascaded to the floor and swamped her feet. She wriggled her toes beneath it. 'It is a little long,' she admitted.

'We can take it up - we just always leave it a little longer to allow for your heels. It's easier to take a dress up than add length.'

'Right - but Doyle's only short, so my heels are only a couple of inches. And even then - I had to get him dress shoes with a slight build up. He doesn't know that yet. But it would just look silly if I towered over him in all the photos.'

The attendant laughed again, as she knelt down and started to pin the hem of Cordy's dress up in place for them to sew it. 'Well - the height of your husband doesn't matter as long as you love him.'

Cordelia suddenly flushed on hearing Doyle referred to as her husband. That was what he would be … this time next week. He would be her husband. She would be his _wife_. That was crazy. It sounded so grown up - being someone's wife instead of just their girlfriend. At least she didn't have to worry about being someone's mother any time soon - that would be a step too far - and as they would have to adopt, it was never going to just happen out of the blue.

Her fingers traced her neckline, as the attendant carried on pinning the bottom of her dress in place, and she began to hum happily to herself. _This time next week ..._

_..._

In the alley outside the shop, the soldiers of The Scourge waited for her to come out - biding their time patiently until the slayer stepped back out into the sunshine.

* * *

'_Blood Vengeance,' Angelus told the man. He and William were at The Immortal's palace - music floated out through the windows of the ballroom, they could see the chandeliers glimmering inside. Elegantly dressed people were lined up behind the two vampires, awaiting entrance - but Angelus and William were still in their torn and dirty clothes, their faces streaked with the grime of being tossed in a dungeon for two days. 'I'm sure we're on the list, is there anything under blood vengeance.'_

_The bouncer searched his list and then shook his head. 'No. No blood vengeance. Sorry.'_

'_Maybe it's under Angelus,' William suggested. But the bouncer shook his head again, 'you're not on The Immortal's list.'_

'_Ah - you know what? To hell with the list.' Angelus grabbed William and the two of them rushed forward, planning to overwhelm the bouncer and crash through the door. But a magical barrier repelled them and they were thrown back. The bouncer was looking angry now. He gestured to his list: 'if you're not on here, you're not going in there. Piss off.' He spat - and the two vampires backed away, slowly, staring back at the party they were not allowed to enter. Once they were a short distance away they came to a stop. 'He mocks us at every turn,' Angelus complained. _

'_Yeah - the man has no sense of indecency. Remember Frankfurt? He hatches the Rathruhn egg personally and then just decides to give those nuns safe passage.'_

'_Those were my nuns,' Angelus remembered angrily. William nodded. 'Yeah. Nuns are your thing. Everyone knows that. They respect it. They respect us.' He spat the last part back in the direction of the palace._

'_We're the reason that men fear the night,' Angelus pointed back at the palace and raised his voice - as if his nemesis could hear him from that distance. 'This isn't over, Immortal, this will never be over.'_

_..._

'It's over,' Spike said glumly - as he and Angel stumbled their way through the twisting passages of the catacombs, beneath the Appian Way. It was a good job they had predatory night vision and no need to breathe - because it was pitch black, the air was stale and cold and the cavernous tracks stretched on for miles. If they got lost down here … well, it was fortunate they were immortal and didn't need food to survive. They might just find their way out in a hundred years time.

They were careful not to brush against the crumbling walls, as they walked, not only because the walls themselves were graves to hundred if not thousands of corpses that were every bit as crumbling as the walls they were buried in - but because those bodies were Christian, and that meant they never knew when there would be a cross daubed as a marker or etched into the rock. Though - being as old as these graves were - a lot of them seemed to favour the fish as a symbol. Spike had never tried pressing his hand against the fish and seeing what would happen … but he figured tonight was probably not the night to try it. Not down here with nothing to put on burns. 'Just like that … not that I thought I had a chance anyway.' he shrugged. 'Still…'

'Yeah.' Angel sounded defeated.

'The Immortal!' Spike suddenly yelled, sounding incensed. His voice bounced off down the passageway and echoed back at him - his indignation reverberating around them, mocking them.

'I mean come on!' Angel snapped - all too ready to agree.

'She's smarter than that.'

'She'd never fall for a centuries old guy with a dark past who may or may not be evil.'

Both vampires stared at each other awkwardly for a moment - and then … 'she's under some kind of spell,' Spike decided.

'I was just thinking that.'

'We're gonna find this pagan temple, kill us a guardian, grab those scales…'

'And then find The Immortal and break his whammy,' Angel finished up.

'Right, and then we…' he trailed off as he heard a low, rumbling growl in the distance. 'Hear that?' he asked.

'Maybe we're getting close.'

'Sounded like a lion…' he twisted his head round to glance over the graves embedded in the walls, 'I know Christians and lions go together but … I'm surprised they wanted to keep one around. You'd think it'd bring up bad memories and all that.'

But Angel shook his head, the lion - if it was one - wasn't linked to the christian burials. 'It guards the pagan temple,' he said, 'it's a totem of some Roman God or … Mithras,' he realised, whispering the last word under his breath.

'Huh? What's that?'

'Mithras - ancient god. One of the mystery cults of Rome - particularly big among soldiers. Temples of his were found all over the empire - from Numidia to Britain. One bit of the mysteries that is … I guess mysterious, is the lion headed figure. No one knows what the hell it's about - but it's often found in the temple remains.'

'And you reckon this lion headed figure is the warrior guarding the scales?' Spike asked, raising one eyebrow, 'gravy.'

'Well - it's just a theory.' They walked further down the twisting tunnels, following the deep rumbling of the growl.

'So why did The Immortal stick his scales in a temple with Mufasa anyway? Why not keep them with him?'

Unfortunately Angel was sifting all the clues in his head, fitting them together and formulating a theory … and he wasn't happy with where it was taking him. 'Mithras isn't really a Roman God,' he said, 'he was from further east - but popular. He was a God of justice, among other things.'

'So?'

'So … I think The Immortal is keeping _his_ scales in _his_ temple guarded by _his _warrior.'

Spike considered this for a second and then stumbled to a stop. 'Hang about! Are you saying you think The Immortal is actually this ancient pagan God? This Mithras? That's who he is? That's what he is?'

'I'm just saying all the pieces fit together.' He pulled on Spike's arm and they carried on walking. He would just have to hope his Sicarius powder would be potent enough to take down a deity.

'So Buffy's dating a _God_… can't see old Spike being good enough after that, can you?'

'Look on the bright side - you were never good enough.'

Spike ignored the jibe at his expense and they continued on their way through the catacombs, the ground crunching beneath their footsteps. 'So if he's so high and mighty … what's he doing running around earth, getting his jollies off playing blokes like us and violating our women. You would have thought he'd have better things to be doing.'

'Look around you, Spike,' Angel opened his arms to encompass the passageway filled with graves. 'A God is only a God as long as it's worshipped. His temple is lost amongst the graves of the Christians and no one remembers he ever existed - he isn't even known by his real name.'

'So the big J.C takes over - and Mithras just becomes an immortal pain in our asses. I'm guessing he doesn't like the cross any more than we do, then.'

'Probably not - but he's still got something on us.'

'How's that?'

'Mithras was also a sun god.'

'Sun of a bitch.' They continued on their way until the deep, rumbling roar led them all the way to the entrance of the underground temple.

* * *

'Things haven't always been plain sailing for you guys, though,' Fred said. Her hands were wrapped tightly around her coffee cup and she was staring speculatively at Doyle over the rim. 'You've had your fair share of troubles.'

'Yep,' he took a deep breath. 'I've screwed up more than my fair share, I think it's fair to say. Luckily Cordelia always gets round to bein' in the forgiving mood if you just leave it long enough.' He frowned, as he pulled the wires free from the beacon and began to separate them out - working out which one did what.

'Do you think maybe it's destiny? That you were always supposed to be together - that you knew before you even met that she was out there?' She asked him.

But that only made him laugh. 'As nice an idea as that is, darlin' - that there's someone out there for everyone and you just gotta find your person … you can't be as wired up to the higher powers as I am without realisin' they don't give a tinker's cuss about the little people and who we end up with. I don't think there's such a thing as romantic destiny - unless you're destined as a couple to usher in the end of days or bring forth a hell spawn … then personal relationships don't _really_ factor into the writing on the wall. And even if you're gonna bring forth a hell spawn - you don't actually have to be in love to do that. I should know.' He looked abashed as he remembered his brief foray into parenting, the previous year.

'So you don't think there was some force out there leading you to Cordelia?'

'Blind luck maybe - but other than that …' he shook his head.

'So you don't believe in destiny and you can't remember the moment you fell in love with her.'

He looked up at her, his expression more than a little confused. 'You sound a bit annoyed about that. Was I meant to say somethin' different?'

Fred sighed, and lowered her cup. 'No - I want you to be honest. And if that's the honest truth … How much did her becoming a slayer change things?'

'For me? Not at all. It was a bigger thing for her but then - it would be, wouldn't it?'

'Did it change the way she saw you?'

'No - it changed the way she saw _her_ \- for a while. And then she realised she was still Cordy and came to terms with it. A bit like me and my demon half I guess, only she got used to it quicker - thank God. And then it was just a part of our lives.'

Fred nodded, her face was very serious, as if she was thinking very deeply about something. 'Did her being the slayer change how you saw her?'

But he only shrugged and shook his head - not even looking up from the wires, which he was now paring back. 'Nope - Cordy's Cordy.'

'But it was a big change - and all at once.'

'Yeah - hence her having to take some time to settle into it. But it was my job to help her through that, yeah? Not make it about me. She hasn't been the girl I met for a long time, she's grown up along the way. Maybe I have too. Changin' is inevitable … or growth is maybe a better term for it. You just gotta learn to grow together. Roll with the punches and take everything as it comes, and adapt. 'Cause if y' can't do that - then your relationship is probably doomed.'

'Probably doomed,' she echoed. Both her voice and her expression were more than a little glum. Doyle looked up from his work and peered at her. 'What is this all about?' he asked her.

But she only shook her head. 'Nothing - you've been a load of help, but I should probably be getting back.' She put her cup down and got to her feet. Doyle looked surprised, but he got up as well to see her out. 'OK then - I'll tell Cordy you stopped by. I guess I'll see you at the weddin'.'

She smiled then and nodded, 'at the wedding. Thanks, Doyle.' She looked awkward for a moment and then suddenly went on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. 'You've been a real help.' And then she clattered back up the stairs.

Left alone in the apartment, Doyle looked even more confused. He put his hand up to his cheek - where he could still feel her kiss - feeling utterly bemused, wondering what on earth it was he had just helped her with. Then, with a shake of his head, he went back to the table and got back to examining the beacon.

* * *

Cordelia had changed back into her jeans. The attendant took her over to the counter and rang up the price of the dress and the alterations. She handed her credit card over, waited for the receipt and then agreed a time to come and pick her dress up the following day - once it had been hemmed to the right length. Then, grinning broadly and feeling very pleased with herself, her dress and the world in general, she left the boutique and stepped back out into the street.

She had barely gone two paces down the sidewalk when she suddenly felt strong arms grab her from behind and hold on tight. Her feet were lifted from the ground, she tried to wriggle free, but whoever had grabbed her was too strong.

She slammed her head backwards and heard a grunt and a crunch as the back of her head smushed her captor's nose - but he still didn't let go of her. And then an arm came round and clamped something over her own mouth and nose.

It was a cloth and it was damp, It smelled of … sickly sweet disinfectant. Her brain just had time to register it was chloroform before it went foggy - and then everything went black.


	80. The Girl in Question: Part Three

_Part Three_

A flickering of light, the orange glow of flames and their twitching shadows, told the two vampires that they were at their goal. They paused out in the passageway. 'Right - we go in there, we kill this thing, we grab the scales and then we rescue Buffy,' Angel whispered, 'on the count of three. One... two …'

But, with a roar, Spike jumped through the entrance way early, before his grandsire was done counting, and threw himself at the guardian inside. There was a growl - and then Spike flew backwards through the doorway and smacked against the ancient wall, sending the crumbling earth tumbling to the ground in a rain of dust and soil.

Angel shook his head, 'three - ' and ran inside himself, hoping Spike would get back to his feet in time to provide backup.

He had been right about the guardian - it was dressed as a Roman Centurion but its head was a lion, and snakes twisted round its body. It wielded a sword and snarled at this newcomer, swinging its weapon.

Angel ducked the first swing - and then the second. As the guardian came at him a third time he threw himself across the ancient altar, rolling across it and dropping down to the floor behind it.

Spike ran in again, then - vamp face on. He threw a punch at the lion-headed warrior - striking it directly between the eyes. It staggered back, roared out and then smacked Spike back, sending him flying once more.

But Angel was back on his feet, now - and had got behind the guardian. He wrapped his arms around the warrior's neck and then twisted until it snapped. The figure went limp in his hands and he dropped it to the floor. Spike got back up, dusting himself down. He surveyed the dead warrior with a raised eyebrow, 'well - that was a slap and a tickle. I would have expected … _more, _you know, from a bloke with a head like a lion.'

Angel nodded. 'That was easy - maybe too easy.'

'Like - maybe there's more blokes waiting to kill us?'

'Like maybe this whole thing is a set up.'

'So what do we do?' Spike asked, staring around the ancient temple and taking it all in. It was small and cramped, the altar was little more than a carved stone block. This was a place for a small handful of worshippers to do dark and mysterious things, a place for a cult, not the wide open space of an openly worshipped God.

Angel only shrugged, 'get the scales - take them to The Immortal and find out what his next move is.'

Spike shook his head, his hands on his hips, 'what a wanker. So where are they then? These scale thingies?'

'My guess? We need to look more closely at this altar.' He began to run his hands across the rough stone surface, the carvings depicting the ancient God slaughtering a bull, looking for … he felt it, a fault line, a slender vertical crack running down the length of the stone block. His fingers searched around some more and - a moment later - he found the catch, there was a scraping sound and the side of the altar opened outward, revealing the hollow centre - and what was stored inside.

There was a box, carved and wooden, Angel reached in and took it out, placing it on top of the altar. 'Spike - go check there aren't any more guards waiting for us in the tunnels,' he said and then - once the other vampire had left, he got to work quickly.

He lifted the lid, and found the scales inside, nestled in a covering of woven cloth. He unwrapped the cloth, carefully, and peered in at what he had come to find. They were gold - as The Immortal had said they would be - the pans of the scale were round, and each had a lid. They were perfectly balanced.

With one eye on the door, checking Spike was still outside, he reached into his inside pocket and took out the Sicarius powder. He lifted the lid of one of the pans and tipped the powder inside, being extra careful to make sure he didn't touch any of it or needlessly inhale. Just a couple of grains of this could down a herd of elephants - or a vampire, hopefully it would be enough to take out a fallen God.

The scales wobbled - and now one was slightly lower than the other. Their balance destroyed by the weight of the powder. That should get The Immortal to look more closely, to investigate, to lift the lid and …

'No sign of anything,' Spike announced coming back into the temple. 'Are they in there?' He nodded at the box, meaning the scales.

'They're here.' Angel turned his back, to put the vial back inside his coat pocket without the other vampire noticing - and then folded the cloth back over the scales and closed the box. 'Come on - let's get this straight to The Immortal.'

...

Angel and Spike raised their fists and banged on the apartment door in unison. It opened - but it was still only Andrew, still in his dressing gown. 'Is Buffy home,' they both asked - blurting their words out at the same time.

Andrew gave them a pitying look. 'You guys, it's only 9:30.'

'Right,' Angel muttered.

'Yeah,' Spike nodded, looking a little abashed. There was a moment of silence - Andrew just staring at them, waiting for them to give up and go home - and then Angel realised he wasn't done yet. 'Do you know where she went?'

* * *

Fred's heart felt heavy as she stood in the elevator which took her up to the lobby. She knew what she had to do. She knew it was the right thing to do - speaking with Doyle had only confirmed what she had already known - but still she did not relish the thought of it. She didn't want to hurt anyone, but there was just no way of avoiding it that she could see.

The bell dinged, the door slid open and she stepped out. 'Well there she is now,' a familiar voice said. She looked up in surprise - and immediately all her troubles flew from her mind - as she saw her mom and dad standing in the middle of Wolfram and Hart. 'oh my God!' she squealed and ran the couple of paces to fling her arms around her folks' necks, 'what are you guys doin' here?'

'Hawaii,' her father told her - as if that explained everything. She wrinkled her nose up, 'huh?'

'We've been saving up for years,' her mom said, 'thought we'd take a layover and surprise you.'

'Well it worked, it's so great to see you,' she hugged them both again. But her mom pulled back from her and looked her up and down, 'uhuh,' she reached out and ran her fingers through the single lock of blue hair that framed Fred's face, 'and what in the blue heck is this?'

'Oh…' Fred screwed up her face and shook her head, 'long story - very boring. You want me to give you the tour of this place?'

'We sure do,' Roger said, 'this place is a step up from where you used to hang your hat.'

'Several steps up,' Trish agreed, glancing round the lobby, still looking impressed with the place.

'We didn't like to say anything, but we were a little worried about that hotel.'

'Daddy -'

'It seemed a little run down,' her mom told her.

'But you called it home, so we kept our mouths shut.'

Trish wrapped her arm around her daughter's waist. 'I guess a girl gets to a certain age, she's old enough to make decisions for herself.'

'Which with you was around seven,' her dad finished up. They all laughed. Fred grinned at them, 'come on,' she said, 'I'll show you all over - and you'll have to meet Connor.'

* * *

The two vampires arrived at the address Andrew had given them. It was a nightclub, dark and smoky and with loud dance music pounding through it. It made Angel's head throb, just standing outside. 'Dancing,' he muttered, as they pushed their way in and made their way through the crowd, 'why did it have to be dancing?'

They made their way up to the bar, shoving their way through the crowds amassed around it, barging people out of the way until they were at the front. Spike put the box containing the scales down on the counter and then spoke to the barmaid, 'you speak English, love?'

She nodded, 'Si si, I love the English.'

He gave her a roguish smile. 'We'll get along fine, then.'

'We're looking for a girl,' Angel told her, 'American, blonde hair, blue eyes.'

'Brown eyes,' Spike coughed. Angel gave him an irritated look and then turned back to the barmaid. She had seen lots of blonde Americans - coeds, come over for spring break - they had a tendency to go a bit wild. Angel shook his head, 'no, no - she's a friend of ours.'

'She's in danger,' Spike explained, 'see, there's this ponce - The Immortal…'

The barmaid cut him off, 'ah si si - The Immortal's new _ragazza._' She nodded her head in recognition and began to scan the crowd. 'They come in a while ago. There.' She pointed out to the dancefloor - and Angel and Spike turned, once more feeling that strange breathlessness and hollowness in their chests, as their dead bodies wanted to react physically to the anticipation - but couldn't.

They could just see her, in the middle of the crowd, her back was turned to them - her long hair was flying out like streamers, behind her, as she danced. It was like the whole room slowed down, the music faded and all the oxygen was sucked from the building.

Behind them, the barmaid smiled. 'Looks like your friend go a little wild, too, no?'

'Right,' Spike glanced back at Angel, 'hold down the fort. I'll be right back.' He left the bar and pushed his way through the dancing masses towards Buffy. But Angel wasn't about to let him get away with that - and followed right on his heels. 'Oh yeah, here it comes, the part where you run off alone and play the big hero so Buffy'll take you back. Well news flash, Blondie Bear - never gonna happen.' He grabbed hold of Spike and dragged him to a stop.

The blonde vampire glowered at him. 'Look - I know I don't have a shot with her, all right? Probably never did. But I still care about her and I'm not gonna let her end up with a jerk like The Immortal. Or you.'

'Hey! Ours is a forever love.'

Spike snorted, pulled himself free and started to push through the crowd again, 'I had a relationship with her too.'

'OK - sleeping together is not a relationship.'

'It is if you do it enough times.'

Angel suddenly dragged Spike to a stop, 'Spike!'

'What?'

'The box - the scales.'

'I thought you had them,' he turned back, his eyes raking over the bar where he had abandoned the box just in time to see an elderly demon in a tuxedo lift it and scurry for the door. Spike bolted after him, grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. 'Where do you think you're going, Jeeves?' he asked.

'Anywhere he wants,' a deep voice said from behind them. The two vampires turned to look - an enormous man was standing in their way, glowering. Angel smiled uneasily. 'I don't suppose we can discuss this over a nice amaretto?' he said. The man hauled back a gigantic fist - and swung it.

* * *

Doyle's tongue was sticking out, the tip of it clenched between his front teeth, as he examined the myriad wires which fed into the beacon. He had pulled them all loose and was now trying to determine which was which. It was all very complicated - there were a lot of wires for an object so small, all stuffed inside the metal casing and coiled round each other, and there was no safe way to test which one did what - not without risking melting his face off … which he had solemnly promised Cordelia he would not do.

He remembered well enough what Fred had told him - the magic was being funnelled through the wires and that it was simply a matter of reversing the magical information the beacon received in order to render a beacon harmless to humans and normal demons. Changing a positive supply input into a negative one was the way Fred had described it. But how to go about doing that … it had required several hours searching on the internet to find roughly the sort of information he was looking for. Although nothing he had found had mentioned magic - they focused on much more mundane sources of energy, he just had to hope that the principle would hold true.

But now he had located the circuit and wiring that he believed was responsible for channelling the magic into the light - telling it to melt all living things with a drop of human blood. And if he could just reverse that command, then he would have hold of a very powerful weapon against The Scourge … but doing it was easier said than done. Maybe he should have got Fred to look at it, whilst she was here.

He pulled the printouts from his computer search in front of him and began to scan the information, nodding his head slowly at the parts that made sense and wrinkling his brow when he got to parts that he didn't quite understand - were a little above his pay grade. But he had to try his best. As weird as it seemed, sitting at his dining room table with his sleeves rolled up and a cup of coffee at his elbow, this was his destiny. If he didn't do this … who else was there?

According to his information, he needed to swap round the ground and output voltage points … inverting them should invert the energy supply. So… he stretched his arms out and cracked his knuckles and, tongue wedged firmly between his front teeth again, he began to get down to business with the circuit in front of him. He really thought he might be getting somewhere, that it might be making a difference … unfortunately there was no safe way to test it out.

* * *

As the fist hit him squarely in the face, Angel staggered backwards. Spike jumped on the man and knocked him to the ground, whilst at the same time, Angel recovered himself and threw a punch at the giant man's crony. One on one they grappled with the men - who had appeared out of nowhere and for no other reason than to antagonise them. Although they were only human, the men were strong and held their ground.

The fighting was fierce and furious, mixed up in the crowds of dancing and jostling people and drowned out by the deafening, repetitive beats of the dance music. Spike lost sight of everything, and just kept pounding on the one guy. Meanwhile Angel picked up the other and hurled him across the club. The man slammed into the wall behind the bar, smashing all the bottles of wine and spirits stored there. He didn't get back up again.

Angel made his way over to Spike, who was still oblivious, lost in the noise and the crowd and pounding on the one guy. Angel grabbed him by the shoulder to stop him but, instead, Spike just swung a punch at this new perceived threat, without thinking. Angel came to a stop, rubbing his jaw - and Spike realised who he had just hit. He opened his mouth to apologise, but now Angel was looking pissed off - and swung a fist of his own right back at the younger vampire.

It was Spike's turn to look angry, now. He pulled back his own fist, Angel did likewise and then they both hit each other as hard as they could at the same time. They both staggered back. 'What the hell are you doing?' Angel demanded.

'I was confused, you git. It's very loud in here.'

'Where'd the little guy go?' He twisted his neck around just in time to spot the small demon - still carrying the box - hurrying out of the club. It stopped in the doorway, made a rude gesture at the two vampires and then disappeared.

...

They rushed outside, though there was no sign of the small demon or their missing scales. They stood in the middle of the road, looking up and down, 'where'd he go?' Spike demanded. And then there was a screech of wheels, a car rounded the corner and nearly knocked them over before tearing off down the winding, narrow road.

'Hey - that's our car!' Angel realised. 'He's got our car!'

Spike searched around himself, saw a group of scooters parked and jumped on the nearest one, switching it on and revving the engine. 'Hop on, little mama.'

Angel stared at him. 'I'm not riding on the back.'

'He's getting away!'

With a deep sigh of frustration, Angel climbed onto the back of the scooter and wrapped his arms around Spike's waist - looking deeply uncomfortable about the whole situation, as he did. Spike kicked off the brakes and they sped away after the car.

They drove over the cobbles, round narrow bends - gaining on the the car the whole time as it had trouble navigating the tiny and twisty streets. 'Faster, come on, punch it!' Angel yelled.

'Stop holding on so tight.'

'Shortcut turn right.'

'Let go of me!'

'Turn left turn left, we'll cut him off!'

'Alright already,' Spike yelled impatiently, following Angel's directions and driving the scooter through the back alleys until they came back out onto the main road, and found themselves right in front of the car - facing it head on.

For a moment, it looked like they had succeeded, that they had won … but then the demon just pressed down on the gas and ploughed ahead, knocking the two vampires off their bike and then driving onward with a screech of tyres.

Spike and Angel hit the floor and rolled. By the time they got back to their feet the taillights were disappearing in the distance, and their scooter had been destroyed in the crash. There was no way to follow.

Angel kicked the debris of the smashed up bike. 'One job you know,' he bitched at Spike, 'keep hold of the scales - that's it.'

'You were right there too,' Spike snapped back.

'I wasn't in charge of the scales.'

'Well they're gone now, aren't they? You gonna stand here in the strada yelling at me all night?'

'Did you just say _strada_?'

'It means street.'

'I know what it means,' Angel hissed.

Spike sighed and grabbed hold of his grandsire's wrist to check his watch. 'Look - we only have two hours to find the scales and deliver them to The Immortal before he has us strung up in his room of pain again and staked right through the chest. Should we argue some more or should we get on with it?'

'Alright - you're right. We find the scales - hand them over and get the hell out of here. No more screwing around. That's it.'

...

Back at the club the music was as loud as ever. 'Have you seen the blonde girl?' Angel yelled over it, talking to the barmaid once more.

'Buffy - her name is Buffy.'

'She was just dancing with The Immortal.'

'Is she still here?'

The barmaid smiled, 'relax, relax, it's OK.'

'They're still here?' Spike checked, feeling the first tinge of relief.

'No, they're gone,' she shrugged. 'But you should still relax - I pour you some wine.'

But the two vampires gave up, turned their backs on her and headed for the door. 'He's got her, Spike. He's got Buffy. Why is this always happening to us?'

'It's him. The Immortal. This is what he does. Every time he shows up I either lose my girl, get beaten by an angry mob or thrown in prison for tax evasion…' he saw Angel's confused look. 'Long story.'

Angel shook his head. Things were different now - they were different … they were just out of their element right now. If this were L.A they'd have The Immortal hogtied by now. If they only had their resources, their team, their helicopters - The Immortal would be in a world of pain.

'Hang on a minute,' Spike said thoughtfully, 'doesn't Wolfram and Hart have a branch here in Rome?'

* * *

The bell dinged and the elevator door opened - and Angel and Spike stepped out into a lobby that looked identical to their own back home. 'Huh,' Angel said. The whole place was busy, with people and demons rushing around even this late at night.

'We have to get the Capo de Familigia's head transferred out to Cincinnati,' Angel heard one lawyer tell another.

'I though the Goran demon clan lived in L.A?' the other said. From the sound of it, this lawyer was German - which explained why the two were talking in English, using it as a lingua franca.

'No no no - they have moved to Cincinnati a few months ago. They say there is big trouble in L.A right now - lots of demon clans are fleeing the city...'

They moved away and Angel couldn't hear them any more - and anyway he was distracted a moment later by a loud enthusiastic greeting, followed by a beautiful woman in a very slinky dress kissing Spike on both cheeks. '_Ciao, benvenuti! _Welcome! Ah Spike - you are the very meaning of handsome. You take my breath away,' she pretended to gasp, 'I have no breath!' and then she laughed heartily, before turning to Angel and kissing him as well. 'And you, what an honour, the great Angelus.'

'Actually it's just Angel.'

'Ah yes. The gypsies, they give you your soul. The gypsies are filthy people,' she turned her head and spat on the floor, 'we shall speak of them no more. I am Ilona Costa Bianchi,' she introduced herself, 'CEO of the Roman offices of Wolfram e Hart. And please, we are at your disposal. Whatever you want, we give you. You want the world? We give you the world. We give you two worlds - because that is our way,' she laughed again. 'Now let's go in my office and we talk like adults, eh? Come!'

She turned and headed for the door to her office, calling to her assistant as she went. Her assistant jumped to his feet and chased after her and - conversing in rapid Italian - they left the two vampires standing awkwardly in the lobby.

Angel and Spike glanced at each other, 'she seems nice,' Spike said - and reluctantly they followed Ilona into her office.

* * *

'Well aint he just the cutest little thing?' Roger was beaming as the three of them left the creche, after spending half an hour playing with the very youngest member of Team Angel.

'It's a good thing he's cute - way things are goin', seems like maybe he's the closest thing we'll ever get to a grandson,' Trish said. Her arm was linked through Fred's and she gave her daughter a wicked, teasing smile.

'Mom!'

'Oh come on now. It's been a while since things went south with Charles…'

'Daddy make her stop!'

'Knock it off, big mouth,' Roger said to his wife. But Trish only laughed. 'I'm just saying there are other perfectly eligible young, gentleman in the company that my single daughter could maybe look into dating, and then marry and have beautiful babies with and move home to raise them.'

Fred giggled, 'now I know you're just scarin' me.'

'What about that Wesley fella - he's very handsome. And that accent? … Very proper.'

The smile slid from Fred's face, 'it's complicated.'

'Well in that case maybe I'll keep him all for myself.'

'Come on,' Fred decided it was time to change the subject and steer them towards easier subjects, 'I'll show you my lab - you won't believe it, it's giganimous - and I run it all.'

* * *

Cordelia - still unconscious - was dragged into a dark room in an abandoned building. Long shackles were attached to the wall, and her captors attached them around her wrists, chaining her in place.

'She cannot get free now,' one soldier said, 'she is under our control.'

'And do you really think he'll come for her?' The other soldier asked, 'The Promised One? Will he really risk everything to save this one human?'

'She is his human - he will come for her. And when he does, we will be ready. Our actions today will make us a legend among our brothers, the commander himself will thank us and we will be responsible for ushering in a cleaner, purer world. After today, there will be no more Promised One and a week from now we will rule this city, a month from now and the entire continent will be ours.'

'Amen!'

* * *

Ilona's office looked just like Angel's - except it was far more sumptuous, and richly decorated. There was a table of food and wine over to one side; a red, velvet sofa and paintings which looked very much like authentic renaissance masterpieces hanging from the walls. Her assistant lit her a cigarette, and she smoked it through an elegant, detachable filter.

'Please, make yourselves as though you were at home,' she told the vampires. 'Your problems they are no more, you have no more problems,' she shrugged and laughed, waving her cigarette around as she spoke, the smoke trailing through the air. 'What are your problems?'

'Our friend - she's under some kind of spell,' Angel told her, forgetting what their real problem was as he focused on the all encompassing need to stop history repeating itself and him losing another girl to The Immortal.

But Spike was in agreement with him, 'it was cast by the vilest wretch this side of Mount Everest.' He stopped and looked annoyed, '...which I am told he has climbed,' he admitted. '... several times.'

Ilona nodded in recognition and turned to the table laden with appetisers, 'ah - The Immortal. Then your friend is lucky. Ha ha! I have had dealings with The Immortal many times and I must say the outcome is always…' she popped an olive in her mouth and smiled knowingly to herself, '...most satisfactory.'

'He's got her trapped,' Spike said. Angel nodded along, 'it's a love spell and we need…'

But Ilona cut him off. It was doubtful The Immortal was using magic. He didn't use spells - he considered them dirty. Dirty spells for dirty people. But Angel was not so easily convinced, and he wanted to get into serious research mode. 'Don't you have like an Italian Wesley here?' he asked.

'Of course! But he is taking a nap. And I do not need him to tell me what is plainly known. The Immortal does not use magic. Now - there is more pressing concerns you have, no?'

'What do you mean?' Angel asked.

'Your scales! You have lost them - and you need to present them to The Immortal at midnight so he does not make your 'eads go smoosh. We know all about your little mission - and someone has stolen them from right under your fine, handsome noses.'

'It was probably just The Immortal himself,' Spike muttered, 'just took 'em from us so he could still kill us himself - that right bastard.'

'Ah - The Immortal has his ways, he likes his fun,' Ilona said. 'But he is not cheating you completely. We have already had a ransom note.' She walked to her desk, took out a piece of paper and unfolded it. 'It was addressed to you via our offices,' she handed it across to Angel. 'I took the liberty of sneaking a peek. We must hurry because the drop is about to take place in less than one hour.'

Angel read through the note, his brow began to furrow. 'OK - we're gonna need a chase helicopter, assault team…'

'And guns,' Spike added, 'lots and lots of guns.'

'No no no no no no no,' She grabbed one of their cheeks each in her hands and squished them, fondly. 'The two of you are so precious, but no! This is a civilised country, we do these sorts of thing all the time. Somebody gets kidnapped. Somebody pays the money. Everybody goes home happy. _Grazie. Prego_. Kiss Kiss. We already have the money ready to go.'

Her assistant hurried into the office and opened up a briefcase packed with stacks of Euros. The two vampires looked at each other, and then Angel sighed and shrugged. 'All right. Fine. Whatever. We'll do it your way.'

'Who's making the drop?' Spike asked.

* * *

They both stood in the middle of the deserted piazza, Spike clutching the briefcase. Waiting. And both in a very bad mood.

'I helped save the world, you know,' Angel said.

'Like I haven't.'

'Yeah - but I've done it a lot more.'

Spike snorted, 'oh please!'

'I closed the hellmouth.'

'I've done that.'

It was Angel's turn to snort. 'You wore a necklace. You know, I helped kill the mayor, and - uh - and Jasmine and…'

'Do they really count as saving the world?'

'I stopped Acathla. _That_ saved the world.'

'_Buffy _ran you through with a sword!' Spike's voice was incredulous.

'Yeah but I made her do it.' He caught sight of Spike's contemptuous and disbelieving look. '...I signalled her with my eyes,' he said defensively.

'She killed you! I helped her! That one counts as mine.'

'My point is I'm better than this. OK? _We're_ better than this. What could Buffy possibly see in him?'

The door of a parked car opened up and the little demon who had stolen the scales got out. 'Perhaps she likes the cut of his trousers...' the other car doors opened and a whole team of thickset men got out and surrounded the two vampires.

* * *

It was time for her parents to get back to the airport - ready for their onward journey to Hawaii - and time for Fred to get back to her very complicated life here in L.A. Roger pressed the button to call the elevator.

'Sorry to just drop in on ya like this unannounced,' Trish said. Fred wrinkled her nose and shook her head, 'are you kidding? I'm just sorry y'all can't stay longer.'

'Well, the beach is calling,' Roger said.

'You just take care, OK,' Trish wrapped her arms around her daughter and closed her eyes. 'Oh I miss you already and we haven't even gone yet.' She pulled back to look at her, and then ran her finger through the lock of blue hair. 'Whatever the long story behind this - don't you go changing too much, you hear? You always be our little Fred.'

'I promise.'

'Aw come on now, Trish, girl's gotta grow up - we can't hold her back. Now stop it - or you'll embarrass her in front of her employees.'

'Daddy stop it! Come here!' She wrapped one arm around her mom and one around her dad, holding them tight for a moment. 'I love you guys so much.'

'Oh we love you too, honey.' They broke the embrace as the elevator arrived, and her parents got in. 'we'll talk soon, OK?' Roger said, just before the doors closed.

'Counting on it.' And then they were gone - and she needed to speak to Wesley.

* * *

The circle of men tightened around the two of them, and the small demon walked towards them - holding onto the box which held the scales. Angel looked him up and down, 'you know The Immortal?' he asked.

'But of course!'

'Ha! I knew it - none of this is a coincidence.'

Spike nodded in agreement. 'Been his plan all along, steal the scales so we can't hand them over - kill us for failing the mission and then traipse off with my girl … _our _girl. It's all a setup - and you're just his lackey!'

But the demon shook his head, 'I should be so lucky! The Immortal does not need men like me to do his business. He is a wildcard, a wolf removed from the pack, a stallion without the bridle…'

'What? Are you in love with him?' Spike asked sarcastically.

'No no … well, yes, OK,' the demon conceded. 'But he is more of an inspiration. A spiritual guide. Have you read his book? It's a lifer changer.'

Angel leaned to the side, 'I'm getting a little tired of Italy,' he whispered into Spike's ear.

'Know what you mean.' They both turned and - in perfect unison - thumped the man closest to each of them. The whole circle of heavies descended into fighting. The small demon sighed, 'oh look, the Americanos are using violence to solve their problems. What a surprise.'

As the fight continued, the demon threw the box to one of the men - who caught it, Angel tried to wrestle it off him - but the man threw it to another of his cronies - and so on and so on, the gang of heavies all playing keep away with the box, whilst the two vampires tussled it out in the middle of the circle.

Eventually the box was thrown back to the demon. He tucked it under his arm and then brought out a gun - pointing it at the vampires. 'OK - no more games. We are not animals. We are _Italianos_. You give us the money we give you the box.'

The two vampires didn't move and the demon sighed with impatience. 'The money, the box, the money, the box…' he gestured between the two items with his gun and spoke as if he explaining something very simple to someone very simple.

'Yeah we get it,' Angel hit Spike in the chest, 'money.' Spike took a couple of steps towards the demon, looking deeply mistrustful. There was a tense moment where nothing happened and they both snatched the item out of the other's hand and retreated, clutching it.

'_Arriverderci_ Americanos. It was a pleasure doing business with you.' And then the demon and his cronies got back into the car and drove away.

Spike shook his head. 'Don't believe him for a moment. The Immortal's neck deep in all of this.'

'Of course he is - he's screwing us. He screwed us before and he's screwing us now.'

Spike opened the box to check on the scales, 'yeah - every time we hear his bleeding name we end up standing in the strada holding the bag.' They both peered inside… in the place of the scales was a ticking bomb, the timer counting down the seconds in red, flashing numbers. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...

* * *

Doyle finished putting all the wires back where they belonged and replaced the metal casing, turning the screws back into position so it was all held together. He was fairly certain he'd just successfully changed the input flow of the magic into the beacon - though there was still no way of safely checking that. Still - not a bad day's work, all in all.

He was just tidying up his toolkit when he felt the sudden twinge in his forehead that warned a vision was incoming, and then the pain slammed into his skull, slicing through his brain as the images flashed before his eyes.

He saw The Scourge …. And Cordelia. They had her. They were going to kill her …

The last of the pain had not even receded before he was back on his feet - nothing, not even a skull cracking migraine was going to stop him from going to Cordy's aid. He grabbed the tiny beacon he had been working on all day, and his best fighting axe just in case, and then ran out into the parking lot and scrambled into Gunn's old pickup.


	81. The Girl in Question: Part Four

_Part Four_

When Cordelia came to, it was to find her head throbbing, her mouth feeling like it had been packed with cotton wool and her wrists chained to the wall of some dark, large place by metal shackles. She struggled to her feet and began to tug on her restraints, gritting her teeth and hauling as hard as her slayer strength would allow. It was agony on her wrists … but the wall fixing couldn't last forever as long as she didn't give up. She grit her teeth again and pulled harder.

'It won't work, human,' a voice said. Her head snapped up and her eyes narrowed as she looked around, peering into the shadows, 'who's there?'

'An army,' a soldier of The Scourge stepped out of the darkness. 'An army that has you captured and your cause defeated.'

'Big talk for one little guy, when I get free - you are in for a world of pain.'

'You won't get free.'

She ignored him and continued to pull on her chains. The soldier smiled - though with his leathery and rotten skin it looked more like a grimace. 'Ah - see, you think we don't know what you are, human. You think we haven't factored in for your strength. But we know you, little girl - we know what you are.'

'Then you know you wanna clear the hell outta here before I get these chains loose.'

'Vampire slayer,' the soldier said, 'one girl in all the world - except now there is an army of you - just like there is an army of us. But your army is not here. You are just one little slayer against the might of The Scourge. And those chains are reinforced, you will not work your way free before we kill you.'

She stopped struggling, 'if you're going to kill me, how come you haven't done it already?' she asked. But the soldier only smiled again. Cordelia snorted, she'd been kidnapped way too many times to be any more than a little concerned about her predicament. If these guys wanted her dead, she'd be dead already - they wouldn't have given her the opportunity to wake up. Well, that was their mistake. They should have killed her whilst she slept, because now she was awake the ball was in her court. And she was here alone with just one little soldier guy … if they thought a pair of shackles and one guy to guard her was enough to stop her, then they really didn't know what a slayer was - but boy were they about to find out. If only she could pull herself free …

'I told you - it's useless,' the soldier said to her. 'The shackles are specially reinforced to allow for your strength. You will not be getting free alone.'

'Yeah? Well luckily I'm not alone. You think you can hold me here forever and no one will come looking? Doyle will come for me, he'll find me, he'll rescue me and then I will make you so _very_ beyond sorry that you took me prisoner that you'll beg for death before I'm done with you.'

But that only made the soldier laugh. She could hear the mirth in it's cold voice as it spoke to her. 'Ah yes - _Doyle_. The Promised One. Yes, I suppose he will come for you - but that doesn't spoil my plan, in fact - you could say I was rather counting on it. You see … The Promised One will come straight to you but when he does …' there was the sound of heavy footsteps, and then more soldiers melted out from the shadows, surrounding Cordelia. They were massive, and heavily armed and their faces were a rotting, gruesome, nightmarish vision of decay, thrown into stark relief by the darkness they had hidden in. The soldier smiled, grimly, '...there will be a welcoming party eagerly awaiting his arrival.'

* * *

The street was lit up by a hundred little fires, the flaming debris that had been scattered in the explosion. The buildings were soot-stained and the cars' windows were smashed. Angel and Spike stumbled their way through the carnage, their clothes ripped, their skin burned and smudged with soot. 'Civilised Country?' Spike snorted, 'look what the squeaker did to my jacket!' He held up the tattered remains of what was left of his trademark leather duster. It was shredded. Unwearable.

Angel sighed in disbelief, he had been thrown several feet in the air by the explosion and had landed on his leg funny. Now it was hurting and causing him to limp. 'After everything we've been through and you're pissed about a jacket?'

'No. Not _a_ jacket. _My_ jacket. You have no idea what i went through to get this.'

'You stripped it off a dead slayer.'

'Which gives it great sentimental value! Besides, I've been wearing it for over thirty years. It's like a part of me .'

'Get over it,' Angel told him, hissing through his teeth, 'buy a new one.'

'It's my second skin! It's who I am. It's just one more thing that he's taken away that I'll never get back...'

...

Ilona slid the brand new leather jacket - identical to the lost one, though in considerably better nick - over Spike's shoulders, helping him into it. He glanced down at it, he couldn't tell the difference. 'Yeah - this is good.'

'I'm glad you like,' she told him, 'because I sent another ten of them to Los Angeles for you along with a fine assortment of shoes.'

Angel walked into the office, looking uncomfortable and unsure about the replacement leather coat he had been given. It was a short motorcycle jacket, mostly in white, with some red and black detailing … it didn't look anything like what he normally wore. He felt stupid.

But Ilona gasped when she saw him and sent out some rapid fire Italian, '_Bellissimo, _you look gorgeous, oh!' She rolled her r on the 'gorgeous' as if to make her point. It didn't convince Angel, and he glanced down at his new coat suspiciously, 'you know, I'm not sure this is me.'

But Ilona shook her head, 'no no no - this is the latest style. You will define handsome for years to come. Ha ha! Now, what happened to the drop?' she popped an olive in her mouth and looked between the two vampires. 'No grazie, prego, kiss kiss?'

'Grazie, prego, kaboom,' Angel told her succinctly.

'Oh they always do that to first timers in this country. Did I not mention that?' She fluttered her eyelashes innocently at them.

'You know that's it,' Angel unzipped his jacket angrily. 'I'm done with this wild goose chase The Immortal has sent us on. I'm done doing it his way. Call up the helicopters.'

'And the assault team,' Spike added.

'We're getting those scales back - we're gonna shove them directly up The Immortal's ass and then we are taking this city as our own! He can't just go around telling people where they can and can't go.'

'Yeah - we've got rights!'

But Ilona was shaking her head again, 'no no no - I love you both so much, you are too precious - but no! Brute force is only going to get the two of you smooshed. You have done such fine, quality work,' she began to escort the two of them towards the door, 'but now you need to relax and let us handle it from here. Please - you must leave Rome before the deadline runs out, else The Immortal, he will smoosh you both. He will pop your 'eads like a ripe fig, no? And they are such fine and handsome 'eads. We will find the scales, deliver them to The Immortal - and all this unpleasantness will be forgotten. No?' She ushered them over the threshold of her office, back out into the lobby, 'sometimes you just need to put your faith in a higher power.'

'We're heroes, we don't need any higher power,' Angel protested. But she ignored him. 'I'll be in touch,' she said, and then closed the office doors in their faces.

'We make our own fate!' Angel yelled, though he was now only yelling at a closed door. 'We don't need anybody cleaning up our mess, you know! We're champions!' Spike pounded his fist against the wood, whilst he tried the handle. The door was now locked and they were trapped on the wrong side of it, being ignored. 'Got this under control!' Angel yelled, joining Spike in the pounding. 'You know we're just gonna - we're …' he suddenly seemed to deflate, and slumped against the door, giving up, 'should we just go home?' he asked the other vampire.

Spike sighed with relief, 'oh God yes,' they headed for the elevators, 'couldn't get me out of this rat hole of a country fast enough.'

* * *

Doyle pulled up outside the address from his vision. His heart was pounding erratically in his chest and his breathing felt tight. Not only was he going up against something much bigger than him, something he wouldn't normally face without Cordelia as backup … but he was there because Cordy was the one in danger. If he screwed this up, he would be responsible for Cordelia dying. It was a lot of weight to carry on his shoulders, and his hands trembled as he switched the engine off and grabbed his axe. Before he got out of the car, he slipped his left hand into his jacket pocket and felt for the small beacon he had put there. This maybe wasn't quite how he'd envisaged testing this thing out… but it was now or never.

The place was an abandoned warehouse in the meatpacking district. His life had been full of abandoned warehouses in seedy parts of the city these past five years, one case or another always led them back to a place just like this. This one wasn't far from where Kali had given birth to Jasmine just last year. That day, he and Angel had just rushed through the front door, ready to kill whatever monstrous spawn came skittering out of the young, demon woman. Things hadn't gone according to plan back then, when he had Angel at his side and only the Groosalug to fight. A repetition of that tactic, when he was alone and facing the soldiers of The Scourge, would end in disaster - he needed to find another way.

Fortunately, a lengthy career in breaking into warehouses to kill monsters had left him with some tried and tested strategies.

He looked around, scanning the building, and sure enough found a fire escape that led to some windows right under the roof. If he scaled that and entered the warehouse high up in the beams, he should be able to get a lay of the land and decide on a best course of action before he just bust in there and started fighting … and inevitably got himself captured and killed. Perhaps - if he was lucky - he would be able to find a way to get close enough to The Scourge to use his little beacon on them without them even realising he was there. Well - not until it was too late, and they were half way melted anyway.

He took a deep breath and, limbs trembling beneath him, began to climb the fire escape heading for the highest point he could reach. It was difficult with an axe gripped in one hand, but he had plenty of practice at this sort of thing and the thought of Cordelia - captured in there and all alone - was enough to keep him moving no matter what the handicap.

The high windows were sash windows, and he had to balance the blade of his axe onto the top rung of the ladder, hooking it over so it didn't fall, so he could use both hands to prise the window open from the outside. Once the gap was big enough for him to squeeze through, he clambered in - breathing in to make it an easier fit - and slithered through head first onto the gangway immediately beneath the window. Back on firmish land, he got up, turned round and leaned back out to grab his axe and then made his way around the high catwalk so he could get a glimpse of the wide open space below.

He was right up by the rafters. The abandoned meathooks dangled from them - drifting slightly in the breeze caused by the open window. He moved carefully, wary of both making a noise that would betray his presence and of stepping on any rotted through wood. The last thing that would help the situation would be if the floor gave way and he plummeted to his death - leaving Cordelia to her fate.

As he moved further round the gangway, towards the middle of the room, Cordelia came into view - miles below - chained to a wall and surrounded by soldiers. She didn't seem to be physically harmed, thank God, but there were at least four soldiers with her - maybe more that were out of sight from his vantage point. Far more than he could hope to fight by himself, especially if they worked as a team.

It would make much more sense to use the beacon than the axe. He would just have to hope he had wired it up correctly - otherwise it was looking like he and Cordy would be dead by the end of the day … and The Scourge would take the city, and then the state - and then the world. So no pressure.

He was just trying to map out a pathway that would get him closer to the main floor, closer to The Scourge, without being seen by them when he suddenly felt his upper arm grabbed in a vise like grip. He turned to look at the triumphant Scourge soldier holding onto him. Its leathery face was split into a wide and crooked grin of delight - and its one hand tightened even further around him, its other hand snatching the axe from his own. He was caught. Already. Damn.

* * *

They hammered on the door one final time. This time, when Andrew opened it, his hair was wet and he clutched a towel - rubbing it dry. He was still in his robe. 'Is Buffy back yet?' they both demanded to know.

'Sorry - not yet. You guys can hang if you want, I'm just heading out.' He stepped back to let them enter, his eyes raked Angel up and down, 'oh, hey - nice jacket.'

Angel glanced down at his hated new coat. 'It's the latest style,' he said defensively, closing the door behind them.

'Andrew, has Buffy been acting off lately?' Spike asked the vampyre expert, 'like The Immortal's got her under a spell of sorts?'

Andrew looked thoughtful for a moment, 'excellent question,' then he shook his head, 'no,' and walked off back to the bathroom.

'Could it be mind control?' Angel yelled after him.

'Or a love potion? Did she drink a love potion?' Spike raised his voice so he could be heard in the next room. But it was no good.

'Dude, seriously, I thought of all those things,' Andrew's voice called back to them. 'But it turns out Buffy fell for The Immortal on her own - and now she's happy. That's it.'

'But she's not finished baking yet!' Angel said angrily. 'I gotta wait until she's done baking, you know, until she finds herself, 'cause that's the drill. Fine. I'm waiting patiently and meanwhile, The Immortal's eating cookie dough!' He threw himself down onto the sofa, with a sigh, and put his head in his hands.

'Spike?' Andrew called from the bathroom, 'is Angel crying?'

'No!' Then he glanced at his grandsire, '... not yet.'

'May wanna hold the waterworks, big guy, The Immortal's cool and all but he's got his flaws.'

Angel jumped to his feet looking newly enervated. 'Really?'

'What are they?' Spike asked.

Andrew - still in the next room - sighed deeply, in exasperation. 'The point is, she's moving on. You guys do the same - and you might catch her one day, one of you - anyway. But you keep running in place, you're gonna find she's long gone.'

Back in the living room, Spike nodded to himself. He looked at Angel, a little sheepishly. 'It is a bit silly … us chasing around like a couple of henpecked teenagers,' he admitted.

'Buffy loves you both,' Andrew called through to them, 'but she's gotta live her life. People change.' He walked out of the bathroom, wearing a tuxedo, his hair slicked back in a sophisticated quiff. 'You guys should try it some time.' There was a knock on the door and he went to open it, revealing two beautiful young women who he greeted effusively in Italian and then took one on each arm. He turned back to the two lovesick vampires, '_ciao,'_ he said - and then he left with his dates, leaving them alone.

Spike looked at Angel, awkwardly - feeling everyone in the world had moved on but the two of them. 'Well, maybe we should -'

'Yeah...'

They got up - walked out - and made their way back to their jets.

* * *

Fred, her insides twisting like they had live snakes in there, knocked on the door to Wesley's office and stuck her head round. 'Is now a bad time?' she asked.

'Fred!' he smiled broadly and put his book down, 'come on in.'

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her - though half of her wished she had a clear escape route ready, she knew they needed privacy for this. 'You - uh - working on something important?' she asked, nodding at the text he had just abandoned on his desk. He shook his head, 'just looking into … Angel. Trying to work out … honestly I'm not sure what. I don't know what we're looking for. But something is wrong with him, and Gunn, Lorne and I are spending this time he is away from the office trying to find … something. I'm glad of an excuse to give it a rest.' His smile became flirtatious, 'I can't tell you how glad I am my excuse turned out to be you.'

Fred sighed, 'Wesley - we need to talk.'

The smile slid from his face. 'That doesn't sound good.'

'It's not … I mean …' she took the chair across from him and put her hands in her lap, twisting them nervously, 'I mean, there's some things we should have talked about, before. When I first got myself back - things I let slide. And, I guess, maybe I shouldn't have let 'em slide, because now things are more complicated than they have to be.'

His brow furrowed, he steepled his fingers and surveyed her over the tips of them, 'what is it you let slide?'

'I don't know exactly where to start.'

'At the beginning would be my suggestion.'

'OK,' she nodded, 'it's complicated but … the beginning. I guess that is where I should start. Do you remember when I was dying, I asked if you would have loved me?'

His face took on a pained expression, 'I don't want to remember that.'

'No, I know you don't - but we _need_ to talk about this. This is all part of what I let slide, letting you pretend the past few weeks didn't happen. When they did happen! And they've made this big difference in who I am - had this huge impact on my life and …' Wesley opened his mouth as if to interrupt but she rushed on ahead, gabbling her words to make sure she got them out without him talking over her. 'No - they did have a huge impact on me. I'm not the same as I was - and I know you want to ignore that and pretend it's not true, but it is - and I can't ignore the fact that I'm, like, 8% Illyria now. I can't. And I can't be with someone who wants to ignore it either.'

He closed his mouth hastily. Fred blushed. 'I'm sorry - I didn't mean to just blurt it out like that. I …' she wrinkled up her face and then smiled, sadly, 'let's go back to the beginning,' she said kindly. 'I asked if you would have loved me and you told me you loved me from the moment you met me - or even before that. You loved me before you knew me - like you just knew I was out there…'

'That's true, Fred - you have to believe…'

'I believe you believe that,' Fred interrupted him, though her voice was still kind. 'But - ya can't love a person you don't know. And you can't love a person you never met. I know that's true … and I think, deep down, so do you. You had an idea, in your head, the perfect woman - everythin' you wanted a woman to be and when we met … ya put her on me. And maybe I do share a lot in common with her,' she shrugged - and then made direct eye contact. 'But I'm not her. I'm me. And you try and twist and shape me to match this ideal vision, ignore everythin' that doesn't quite measure up. Wesley, if you really loved me - for me, not for what you think I can mean to you or what I represent, just for myself - then you wouldn't try to shape me into fitting the cookie cutter of your ideal woman… you'd change _her _to match up to _me_.'

'I … I don't know what to say,' he said to her, and his expression showed his shock - and sadness - and just a hint of frustration. 'I'm sorry you think this way but…'

'When I was Illyria, you couldn't even look at me,' she said. There were tears in her eyes now and her voice was less kind. 'Angel held me in his arms and carried me home, Charles spent the night watching over me, Lorne and Spike stayed with me and talked to me, kept me calm and brought me back to myself, Doyle and Cordy brought me pancakes …' she shook her head, 'and you couldn't even bring yourself to look at me. If you loved me - the real me - _why couldn't you look at me?_'

'I - it hurt too much … the pain …'

'That's just being selfish. That's not love. I needed you - and you were in here, drinking. With Lilah.'

He inhaled sharply. 'I brought you back. I designed the weapon that drew out Illyria, _I saved you _...'

'Because it benefited you. I'm sorry. But you brought me back for your sake as much as mine. And now I'm different, you can't bear to hear about it. You refuse to accept it - you're ignoring this whole huge chunk of who I am now just because it doesn't fit in with your image of the ideal woman you cooked up in your head and stuck in my body. I can't live like that.'

'But there's no benefit to dwelling on the past, it just makes us miserable. Don't you see that, Fred? We need to be moving forward. Illyria's gone - you're whole again. Perfect. If you can just let go …'

She shook her head and got to her feet. 'See? You think I'm perfect. I'm not perfect, Wesley - no one is. And you shouldn't love someone who you think is perfect - 'cause they'll only disappoint ya. Every time. I can't let go from what happened to me, I'm different now. I need to find a way to move forward and make this a part of who I am, and I can't do that with someone who won't even admit it all happened. So I need to stop this - us. I need to figure things out for myself.' She headed back to the door, but stopped and turned back, with her hand resting on the handle. 'I'm not saying this is forever, Wes. There's so much of you I wanna love. We could have something really great. But you need to sort things out as well. Work out who you love more - this figment woman in your head, or me. And if it's really me you want, then you need to forget all about her - 'cause she aint real and she never will be, and I won't be second best to some dream girl.'

'You're wrong about all this, Fred,' he told her - and there were tears shining in his eyes now, as well. 'I loved you from the moment I met you.'

But she only shook her head again, knowing all too well that what he professed was impossible. 'No. You didn't.' And she left the office and closed the door behind her.

* * *

Doyle was dragged down the creaking staircases and out onto the main floor of the warehouse - and led over to where the four or five soldiers of The Scourge were standing, gathered around Cordelia. OK - so this wasn't exactly an ideal situation, not the way he had hoped things would pan out - but maybe all didn't have to be lost. If he just held his nerve and waited for the right moment... 'Look what I found sneaking round the rafters,' his captor told his comrades.

Cordy caught sight of him, 'Doyle!'

'Hey Princess,' he flashed her what he hoped was a reassuring grin. 'I came here to rescue you but - uh … ' he glanced at where the massive soldier had hold of him, 'plans went a bit south.'

'I told you you couldn't go five minutes without getting into trouble.'

'Hey! I'm not the one who got kidnapped this time … you know, at first.'

'Are you saying this is my fault?'

'I'm just sayin' - it's not mine.'

'Enough!' The soldier in charge roared. He stared at Doyle, the disgust written plainly on his face. 'This tiny creature is really The Promised One?' He asked his brothers. 'The one sent to save the world from our glorious light. _This?'_

'It only looks human,' his captor said, 'it is a halfbreed - it has powers beyond a normal, mortal man - can you not stink it?'

The leader nodded, 'the stench of its polluted birth rolls off of it in rotting waves, hanging from it like trails of dead flesh…'

'I mean, this all gettin' a bit personal,' Doyle muttered under his breath.

'You do not seem afraid, half breed,' the soldier said to him. 'You stand there and joke with your human. Do you not fear death? Or is your kind too feeble in the mind to understand the danger you are in?'

Doyle swallowed, 'you know I'd really rather not die - if it's all the same to you, bud.' As he spoke, he slid the hand of his free arm into his jacket pocket, felt the beacon and turned it over in his hand. 'We're getting married next week - me and the human - would be a shame to miss my own weddin', you know?' Still unnoticed, he flicked the switch - causing the beacon to activate, but he kept in his pocket for now, keeping it hidden and in the dark until it was ready to do some damage.

'This time next week our army will be ready. Halfbreed, it is a kindness that we kill you now - for you will not want to look upon the terrible beauty of our new world order when we have cleansed the land of all your kind.'

'Next week?' Doyle asked - stalling for time, as he felt the light in his pocket begin to heat up. 'That's when the big … apocalypse is? Huh. So … if y' don't mind me askin' - why are you killin' me ahead of schedule? I'm guessin' it's not actually outta courtesy.'

'The commander takes too great a risk, leaving you living when our time is near. Once you are dead, he will see we were right to take matters into our own hands. We will be celebrated.'

'This isn't an official hit,' Cordelia said to him, 'the rest of The Scourge don't know they're here. They don't know _we're_ here.'

'So we just gotta kill these ones and we're home free,' Doyle realised.

'But there are five of us - and only two of you. Your slayer is chained up and you have no weapons. This is the end Promised One. The moment when we shall see who's prophecy is the one destined to be made truth and who's was always nothing but ash.'

'I guess it is at that.' He took hold of the beacon by its chain - it was now far too hot to hold in his hand - and pulled it out of his pocket. This was the moment of truth. Either he had wired this up wrong, and he and Cordelia were about to be killed in that particularly horrible way he was supposed to have died so many years before. Or he had wired it up wrong - so the beacon would do nothing - and the Scourge would kill them both with the axe. Or - and this was just an outside chance - he had done everything exactly right - and it was the soldiers who were about to feel the deathly kiss of the beacon's cleansing light.

With a quick prayer sent up to a God he hadn't believed in since he was a child, he thrust the now shining beacon out in front of himself and held it aloft so its rays of light fell upon the whole group.

The light was blindingly bright in its white hot intensity and it shone out twenty feet in every direction, engulfing them all in a ball of blazing heat. Doyle screwed his eyes up against the light, and turned his head away - hoping … hoping …

And then he heard the screams, and it was an immense relief that they did not belong to Cordelia. It was the soldier's screaming - one long, agonised yell that he recognised, that he remembered all too clearly, though he wished he didn't. It was the same final scream he had heard coming from his own lips, before they melted off, when he was shown how that night, so long ago, was supposed to have gone down. It was the scream of pain of having everything inside of you cleansed until there was nothing left.

He risked a peek, and immediately wished he hadn't … the soldiers were disintegrating, right in front of his eyes; their hideous, leathery skin had burned away leaving them red and raw - and then that burned away too - leaving nothing but the gaping black hole he had once seen in the place of his own face. And then they were gone - with nothing but the echoes of their agonised death screams left behind. Just like it had once been for him.

Though this time, the light did not die away - because no one was pulling the cables to switch it off. It had grown brighter still, in the time Doyle had been looking away - reaching as far as fifty feet now. With his eyes screwed up tight against the brightness, his fingers fumbled until he found the off switch and flicked it. Slowly, slowly, the light died away, and he dropped the beacon back in his pocket.

Red spots danced in front of his eyes and made him stumble as he made his way over to where Cordelia was still chained to the wall. Peering through the blurriness and brightness imprinted on his retinas, he saw that she had her face twisted away from the direction of the beacon, her eyes were shut tight and there was a definite expression of disgust lingering on her features. 'Is it over?' she asked, when she became aware of the returned gloom, even behind her closed eyelids. 'Is it done?'

'It's done - they're gone.' He picked up the fallen axe and began to chop her chains off her. As soon as she was free she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. 'I knew you'd come for me - I knew you'd kill them.'

'Ah - protect and serve - it's entirely my bag,' he said, holding her back.

'And you did it - the beacon! You actually managed to reverse the magic.'

'It wasn't that hard,' he said, modestly.

'Nonsense,' she gave him a swift kiss, 'you're a hero.'

'Well - I mean, if you wanna put a label on it…'

'And the best bit is, the rest of The Scourge didn't know what these guys were up to, they'll never know we have a working beacon to use against them. Doyle - you're a genius.'

'Well, you know … if you think that label fits too, who am I to ...'

She pulled away from him and looked around, not paying attention to any more of his faux modesty. There was no sign The Scourge had ever been there - none at all. 'They're just … they're completely gone. It's not like that time you melted the Nadrah and there was all goo and melted armour. There's nothing.'

'Yeah…' he shuffled his feet and rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly, 'that's what the beacon does.'

Her head whipped back round then. 'This is what happened to you!' she said accusingly. 'Before - the time you died. This is what happened, isn't it?'

'Uh - yeah.'

'Oh God!' She flung her arms around him again, so hard he stumbled back a step and had to regain his balance. He wrapped his arms around her again and stroked her back. 'But that was before and has got nothin' to do with where we are now, yeah?' he said to her soothingly. 'We don't have to worry about that, OK?'

'OK,' she nodded, and let go of him a little, though not much. But enough that he could look at her enquiringly. 'You OK?' he asked.

'Uhuh,' she sniffed, 'just - promise me you won't let that happen again. Not to you.'

'I promise.'

She tightened her grip once more, 'I'm holding you to that,' she told him.

'That's OK - it's a promise I _fully_ intend to keep.'

She looked up and around at the deserted warehouse, though she still hadn't let go of her boyfriend. 'I guess we should get out of here.'

'I should get you home. It's been a long day.'

'Oh god - what time is it?' She grabbed his wrist so she could look at his watch, as a sudden and horrifying thought hit her out of nowhere. 'I was out for hours! I'll have got a parking ticket - come on, tiny creature, we need to get back to the Plymouth before they tow it.' Still holding his wrist, she began to tow _him_ out of the building - marching as fast as her long legs could carry her.

He stumbled along behind her, 'you know - I object to all this "tiny creature" stuff,' he complained, 'I'm really not that small, you know, couple o' inches shorter than average.'

'More than a couple.'

'Maybe three.'

'If that's what you like to think.' She dragged him out into the dwindling sunshine and clambered into the passenger seat of the pickup.

'I'm not that small!' he protested, getting in behind the wheel. 'I'm a perfectly decent height.'

She pulled down the sun-visor and checked her hair and lipstick in the mirror. 'So I'm guessing now isn't the time to tell you about the built up shoes you have to wear to the wedding, huh?'

'_What?'_

* * *

Exhausted, defeated and utterly depressed, the two vampires returned to the lobby of their own Wolfram and Hart many hours after they had first left it. It was dark in L.A now as well - they had spent so long slayer chasing on the other side of the planet they had managed to spend a whole day in the darkness, missed the sun completely.

Lorne was at the front desk, chatting to Harmony, as they limped their way past. 'Well hey there amigos!' he greeted them, effusively. 'How goes the course of true love?'

'Off track,' Spike said from between his teeth, 'waay off track.'

'Huh - I guess fair lady didn't want to be won. Still I know what will turn Angelcakes frown upside down - or at least … it fair made me smile.'

'What is it, Lorne?' Angel asked.

'You have a fruit basket to die for - sent straight to your office, sitting on your desk. Pineapple, papaya, little mango pieces, cherries - it's a dream.'

'A fruit basket?' Angel said blankly.

'Did I mention the papayas?'

With a snort of disgust, the two vampires marched into the office and slammed the door behind them. Just as Lorne had said, an extravagant fruit basket, festooned with ribbons, was sitting on the desk. There was a little note with it, Angel picked it up to read: 'It is with great regret that I tell you you failed in your mission tonight - both of them. The banishment of 1894 is still in place, though do enjoy this complimentary fruit basket. Regards, The Immortal.' He ripped the note into tiny pieces, 'you know I really hate that guy.'

'What is Buffy thinking?' Spike sounded as incensed as he had when he had first found out who the slayer was currently dating. 'Honestly!'

'She doesn't exactly have the best taste in men, case in point.'

'I think I turned out OK.'

'Yeah, once she got through with you.'

Spike raised an offended eyebrow. 'I wasn't the one living in alleyways, rubbing rat filth over my face. If we're talking projects - you're the Sistine Chapel.'

'I wasn't a project!' Angel said through gritted teeth.

'Well neither was I.' He sighed, leaned against Angel's desk and folded his arms. 'So - what? We just have to live with it then? Get on with our lives.'

Angel nodded his head, 'fraid so.'

'Fine,' he sniffed. 'No problem - I was planning on doing that anyway.'

'Yeah, me too.'

'Actually - I'm doing it right now. As we speak - I'm moving on.'

'Moving on,' Angel echoed, blankly.

'Yeah.'

'Right now.'

'Moving…'

* * *

Spike had left eventually, no doubt to crawl into a regular sized bottle of Jack Daniels and cry himself to sleep. Now he was alone, Angel had the space to think about what he had done today - the betrayal of Buffy, for it had turned out to be one though he hadn't intended it. He had poured the Sicarius powder into the scales and - as he had absolutely no doubt that it was The Immortal himself who had stolen them from the two vampires - The Immortal would now be in possession of the scales … and the poison.

He may already be dead. It may have already happened - whilst Angel was on his flight home. And if he was dead, then Buffy would grieve. Andrew had said she was happy. She would not be happy anymore - and Angel had done that to her. If she ever found out … well, if she ever found out then it was safe to say Angel would have lost her for good. But he was playing a deeply dangerous game now, up to his eyeballs in Wolfram and Hart and with only one way out. Her love was a sacrifice he had to make, for the sake of his own soul. For Connor.

And it's not like The Immortal didn't deserve it. He'd lived for thousands of years, and wasn't not evil. So now - all Angel had to do was sit back and wait for the news to come in that The Immortal had been assassinated, and try not to worry too much about Buffy's grief - or her anger. And once the news was out there, he would be on the Circle of The Black Thorn's radar - it would only be a matter of time before they extended him an invitation to join.

But in the meantime, it didn't hurt to work on furthering his other credentials. He had intended to take the credit for killing Fred, as much as it had torn at his heart just to think it, that had been the original plan. That had fallen through - Fred being alive and well and all - but that didn't mean he couldn't take the credit for the attempt on her life. Couldn't make it look like he was the sort of man who would murder one of his most trusted lieutenants in cold blood … for no reason.

He sat behind his desk and pulled open a drawer, taking out a rolodex - one Lilah had shown him, one he never thought to use. Never believed he would. It was filled with the names of demon assassins - it was time to hire a couple, talk to them, and send them to the Deeper Well…

* * *

Although it was late at night, and the place was abandoned - even Angel having gone up to his penthouse to find Connor - Wesley was still in his office. Drinking. He heard the door open, and looked up, to see Lilah sidle in. 'I thought I might find you here,' she said.

'So - you heard.'

'No secrets in the house of pain.'

'I'm in love with a figment of my own imagination … apparently.'

Lilah smiled. She sat down opposite him and crossed her long legs. 'Oh, my poor Wesley - I could have told you that.'

'Why didn't you?'

'You didn't want to hear it, not from me anyways - so now here we are, exactly where I knew we would end up.'

He poured her a drink and slid it across the desk to her, 'well, you always did know me better than I know myself.'

'I'll drink to that.'

* * *

The commander paced up and down, anxiously. There was a disturbance near the door - and then one of the footsoldiers was allowed through by the guards and approached his leader. He saluted, 'sir.'

'What news?'

'Five of our brothers are missing, there is no sign of them across the city.'

'They have not deserted our cause…' it was not a question. 'The Promised One,' the commander realised. 'Even now - even this close - he depletes our numbers.'

'What shall we do, commander?'

'Send word out - no one is to leave the camp, not until our day is here. Then - and only then - will we rain our cleansing light upon this sick, and sorry earth. And The Promised One - he shall be the first to burn.'

* * *

**A/N so the next episode is not only the penultimate episode of the season, but it also the penultimate episode of the entire series AND the 100th fully rewritten episode of this whole fic. It's gonna be bigly... 'Power Play' - posting on Friday. **


	82. Power Play: Part One

**Power Play**

_Part One_

Doyle tried to stand up as straight and as tall as he could, and not peek round at where his friends were standing behind him. He had to keep looking forward - that was his job, even though he could hear the rustle of their clothes and the hushed murmur of their voices as they waited patiently. Time seemed to be moving very slowly - and he just stood there, facing forward, feeling a bit like an idiot.

A sudden panicked thought hit him and his hand flew up to check the breast pocket of his waistcoat … and then he felt himself deflate with relief as his fingers made contact with the hard circles inside. They were right where they were supposed to be. He hadn't forgotten. He felt flustered and warm now, and it must have been noticeable - because the officiant smiled at him - with a touch of sympathy in her expression. 'Are you ready?' she asked.

He nodded. His mouth felt dry and his tongue was all raspy. He didn't trust himself to speak. He always got dry mouth before he had to speak in public. He should have brought a water bottle along.

'OK, I think we're ready to go, then,' the officiant said - and the music started up, the familiar swelling chords of the wedding march peeling out and filling every nook of the room, and Doyle heard the sounds of the doors creak open - and then the delighted gasps - the oohs and aaahs of his friends, as Cordelia walked down the aisle.

'Oh my God!' he heard Harmony squeal, and then Fred laughed and whispered 'isn't she beautiful?', Connor cried out: 'Cordy!' - and that made all the men chuckle and then he heard Lorne say, 'aint she gorgeous? Just look at that aura! Doyle is one lucky little leprechaun.'

And then her even footsteps were right behind him, and then there she was - her thousand kilowatt smile dialled up to a million, the biggest and brightest beam he had ever seen on her face. And she was blushing - her nose and cheeks tipped in pink - looking almost shy. And although he didn't have Lorne's powers, she was lit up so brightly that everything else dimmed around her - and it felt like he was seeing her aura surround her like a haze, and it was one of pure joy. He just stared at her. Of all the visions he had ever had …

Lorne was right - after everything they had been through, since they first met. Through all the years, the screw ups, the fall outs, the misunderstandings and the outright betrayals … Doyle was beyond lucky to actually be here today, actually marrying _Cordelia. _Cordelia Chase. He couldn't quite believe it, he wanted to pinch himself to prove it wasn't just a dream - but was afraid of waking himself up and finding out that it was.

And then the music faded out, and the officiant began to talk. 'Welcome family, friends and loved ones. We gather here today to celebrate the wedding of Cordelia and Francis. You have come here to share in this formal commitment they make to one another, to offer your love and support to this union, and to allow Cordelia and Francis to start their married life together surrounded by the people dearest and most important to them …'

Doyle was barely even listening, the formal words buzzed in and out of his ears as he just stared at Cordelia and let everything else fade into the background. She kept on smiling that bright, brilliant smile - and he felt his own face break open and light up, his lips stretching wider apart - until his own elated, delighted, slightly bashful grin matched Cordelia's perfectly...

* * *

The footsoldiers of The Scourge stood lined up in their regiments, side by side - as their commander addressed them. One final time. 'Today is our day,' he told them. His loud voice ringing out across the warehouse. 'We have had losses, we have had faced defeats, we have even been bested by those beneath us! But I say no more!'

The crowd cheered, and he waited for them to be quiet before continuing. 'Tonight is the night our cleansing beacon will shine across the land, and wipe the earth clean of the stain of humanity. Tonight will be our night for glory!'

There was more raucous whistling and cheering, hands banging together in approval. The celebrations lasted for minutes and only when he had complete silence once more, did the commander finish up with his message. 'And this so-called "Promised One" he will not stop us, he will not defeat us, he will be the very first to die… go now! And deliver this our message - our victory depends on it!'

The lines broke apart, and the soldiers began to run for the trucks and the motorcycles, headed out to usher in their cleaner world, where only the pure would be left standing. The ground trembled and shook under the pounding of their jackboots.

* * *

The rice had been thrown, the photos taken - indoors so that Angel, Spike and Harmony didn't burst into flames - but now it was time to get back to work. The elevator doors opened, and the whole team tumbled out into the lobby, still dressed in their wedding best. Lilah was standing in the middle of the space, her arms folded and her foot tapping. 'What time do you call this? Angel - you're late.'

'We were busy,' he said, coldly.

'The half breed's wedding - yes. But you have a _very_ important client waiting.'

'Oh - right.' He handed Connor to Lorne, asking him to make sure the little boy got down to the creche and then looked over at Gunn, 'you ready?'

'As I'll ever be.'

The rest of the team separated out - heading back to work, disappearing back inside their offices - and Harmony settling down behind the front desk, whilst Lilah brought over the clients she had waiting. 'Angel - this is Senator Brucker.'

He shook the senator's hand, 'welcome to Wolfram and Hart.' She smiled, taking both his hands in her own as they shook - placing her left hand over his right in a power move. Her smile - though friendly - showed she expected the best and would accept nothing less. 'Oh I go way back with the firm, back when Holland Manners was in charge - and little Lilah, here, was just a junior attorney.' She gave a patronising smile to Lilah, including the liaison in her power games. Lilah gave her an insincere smile back.

'I think you'll find things have changed quite a bit here since then,' Gunn told the senator, shaking her hand himself. 'Charles Gunn, head of the legal department.'

'And this is Ernesto,' the senator introduced the smartly dressed man standing beside her, 'my personal…'

'Vampire,' Angel finished up, eyeing Ernesto closely. Senator Brucker smiled at him, curiously, as if interested to note that the CEO of Wolfram and Hart objected to the presence of other vampires. 'Aide,' she corrected him 'I always forget that your kind can sense each other. Well, I believe in diversity on my staff. It was a big part of my campaign.'

'How commendable,' Gunn said drily, thinking that vampires and demons and other hell beasties were maybe not what the voting public had in mind when they were promised equal opportunities for minorities.

'Harmony, you mind getting us some coffee?' Angel asked his assistant. She got to her feet and took a step towards leaving, when the Senator interrupted her. Coffee wouldn't be necessary - but Ernesto might quite like some blood. 'Virgin, if you have it,' the vampire aide said to her. 'Room temperature's fine.'

Harmony smiled apologetically. 'Sorry. We have a no human blood policy. I can offer you something in a rodent. We have a fruity, unassuming vole or …'

'Harmony, these are very important clients,' Lilah interrupted her, she was smiling but spoke through gritted teeth. 'I think maybe we can make an exception.'

Angel nodded his head, 'Harmony, the lab might have something in the blood bank, why don't you go check it out?' He could feel Gunn glaring at him, but he ignored it - and only winked at Lilah. Even Harmony was looking surprised, 'OK - you're the boss, boss.' She started to walk away and then stopped and turned back. 'Could I maybe have just a teeny weeny…'

'No,' Angel said - without looking at her. She sighed. 'Just thought I'd ask.'

Once she was gone, Angel started to usher his clients towards his office. Lilah grabbed hold of Gunn's arm and stopped him from following. 'This is big stuff,' she muttered to him, 'you sure you can handle it?'

He nodded, 'I've been keeping up on my reading, I'll muddle my way through.'

'You can't afford to screw this up.'

'I won't.'

'Well - if you get into trouble - make your excuses, leave and I'll go in there and smooth things over, OK?'

'I guess I'm lucky you got my back.'

But that made her laugh. 'I don't have your back, Charles. I'm a company gal. You screw up - we all lose. The Senior partners will hold my feet to a fire - and I mean a literal fire. So do your best for the firm - and if you need me, I'll be around.'

...

Angel was just about to follow the senator into his office, when Wesley, carrying a report, intercepted him and pulled him back into the lobby. 'There's been another fatality in Funville,' he told his boss. 'That abandoned amusement park downtown. Third victim in as many nights - teeth marks strongly indicate a boretz demon. This last victim was a teenage girl, a runaway. She was ripped apart.'

But when the watcher had finished speaking, Angel only shrugged. 'Well, there's not much we can do about it now, huh?' he turned to head into his office. Wesley stopped him again. 'Angel, we need to find this demon and stop it before -'

'Somebody else dies? Yeah I know,' he didn't sound overly interested though. 'People are dying every day. All over. This girl is just one more statistic.'

'Stacie,' Wesley said quietly. 'The statistic's name was Stacie Bluth.' He held out the report for Angel to look at. The vampire took it and perused it for a moment. 'Well, you know, we can't save everyone and we can't sweat the small stuff.' He handed the report back to Wesley.

'Small stuff?' Wesley sounded like he had been struck.

'Wes, I got a United States senator waiting for me. So, just find out what you can about this boretz and we'll talk later, OK?' He turned around without waiting for an answer and walked into his office, closing his door in Wesley's face.

Spike had been watching the whole thing from further down the hallway, he peeled himself away from the wall and headed over to where the watcher was still standing - frozen and confused. 'Listen, you need some boretz killing doing, I'll have a go. I haven't had a decent tussle since Fred was the big, blue meanie.'

Wesley nodded - though he still seemed distracted, disturbed by Angel's total lack of care. Of course he knew that Angel had been acting out of character for weeks now - but to so coldly dismiss the death of a young girl, when it did not benefit the firm to overlook or pander to the evil behind it … this was a new low. It troubled him greatly. 'Thanks. Call me if you find anything. I'll be in my office, learning what I can.'

* * *

The story was the same across the city. A truck would drive up - the soldiers would jump down, the earth would tremble and shake beneath their feet - the first sign there was anything wrong. And then doors to lairs would be smashed down; hideaways ransacked; the cowering demons found and dragged out into the daylight.

Vampires were forced into the sunshine, where they exploded, screaming, in clouds of dust. But all other demons would be bundled into the trucks and driven away, rounded up and taken onward to their final destination.

Demon children screamed, mothers wept - as babies were plucked from their arms and had their brains dashed out against the walls. Fathers tried to fight, struggled to protect their own, to no avail. The military units worked as one, rampaging through a lair, using their weapons to smash family heirlooms; kicking up rugs to reveal hidden trapdoors; pushing over furniture and flipping over mattresses - dragging every last demon man, woman and child they could lay their hands on out of hiding and into the light. And once the demons were secured in the trucks, The Scourge would transport them - and then move on to find the next lair, and repeat the process over and over.

Today was the day they purged the city. They were leaving no stone unturned, and there would be no escape for anyone.

* * *

Angel and Gunn sat with the senator in Angel's office and watched her opponent's new campaign video. It was good. Mike Conley was a Gulf war veteran and a bronze star recipient and was leaning hard on ethics and integrity. As a waving American flag was superimposed over a family playing frisbee in the backyard, the voice over told them: '_Mike Conley believes in work … and in home. Your home is his work. He's looking out for your children's best interests.'_

Ernesto paused the video. 'So you can see our concern. This Conley campaign is a juggernaut. He came out of nowhere with that "your home is his work" crap and the women voters are eating it up.'

'And they were mine,' the senator said bitterly, her face twisted in disgust. 'I had a lock on the chick vote. And now my numbers are slipping. I didn't claw my way up from hell and get myself installed in a human body just to have some pedophile steal my senate seat.'

'Wait,' Gunn furrowed his brow in confusion - and glanced towards Angel. But the vampire looked as impassive and unconcerned as ever. 'Mike Conley's a pedophile?'

The senator smiled. 'Not yet.' The smile hardened. 'But the public better think he is when you guys get through. Hell, convince Conley he is. You've got some brainwashing capabilities here, don't you? What's that doctor's name.'

'Sparrow,' Ernesto supplied.

'Right, this sounds right up his alley.'

'Well it's not up ours!' Gunn retorted angrily. 'Look, I don't care what kind of services you're used to getting with this firm, but Holland Manners doesn't live here anymore. We're not about to ruin a man's life and reputation just so you can -'

'We can do it,' Angel's voice interrupted Gunn, mid rant. Whereas Gunn's voice was heated and impassioned, Angel's sounded almost bored. Like this was no big deal, nothing to get het up about. Small stuff. Gunn turned to him, staring in disbelief, '_what?' _

But Angel ignored him and spoke only to the senator. 'I'm not sure how long a reconditioning like that would take.'

'The election's in November,' Ernesto told him.

Gunn sat there, horror struck - and tried once again to get his boss to see sense. His voice was urgent. 'Angel - you can't possibly be considering -' but Senator Brucker spoke right over the top of him. 'Angel, you've just made yourself a _very_ loyal ally in Washington.' Angel smiled at her. Gunn jumped to his feet. 'Angel we need to talk.'

But the vampire only shook his head, 'I'm with the senator now, Gunn,' he said, blowing him off.

* * *

Inside his office, Wesley picked up one of his templates and spoke to it. 'Boretz demons, classifications and case histories.' As the writing began to magically bloom out of nowhere and spread across the page, he sat down behind his desk and began to read.

Suddenly, the left hand page blanked out completely - and instead of the tightly packed script detailing information about the boretz, there was now far fewer words spelling out a much shorter message: _you're looking in the wrong place._

Wesley frowned, 'where should I be looking?' The message faded, and the small writing came back, just as the right hand page blanked out. This time - instead of words - a circle appeared: black, with eight little curved prongs sticking out of it … like thorns.

The door slammed open and Gunn barged in, 'we need to talk - it's Angel...'

Wesley glanced up, 'hold on,' he said, interrupting Gunn and then looking back down at his book to see if there was anything more to learn. But by this time, both messages had disappeared.

* * *

_Clink! _The champagne flutes chinked together like the tinkling of a tiny bell. 'To us,' Cordelia said, 'to us, darlin',' Doyle replied. Neither of them had stopped smiling, though the wedding was long since passed and they were now holed up in a booth in a dark, out of the way, little champagne bar.

'Wait, we have to link arms to drink - it's a good luck thing,' Cordelia said, 'try not to spill.' They snuggled up closer together on the seat and linked arms, before taking their first sips. It went well at first, but then the bubbles started to tickle Cordy's nose and she began to giggle. 'Stop stop stop,' she laughed - and they managed to unhook just before she splashed her drink right the way down her dress.

'You OK?'

'The champagne bubbles tickled my nose.'

'Yeah, they'll do that.' He leaned forward to give her a kiss. 'You want a strawberry?' He pushed the bowl of chocolate covered fruits across the table and offered her one.

'I need to be careful with this, I don't wanna get chocolate or strawberry stains down my dress anymore than I wanna spill champagne down it.'

'Ah - it's done it's job now, we're married. And anyway - stains or not, you're always the most beautiful woman in the world, Mrs. Doyle.'

She blushed and giggled. She was wearing the necklace and earrings Doyle had given her in Pylea, back when he was a king, and her skin tone suddenly flushed to match the rubies. 'I think you're just biased, Mr. Chase.'

'Always,' he winked at her, and then kissed her again.

'Today has been perfect,' she said, when they broke apart. He fed her another strawberry. 'See?' she said through a mouthful of chocolate and fruit, 'a total dream.'

'Yeah? Even without ice sculptures or doves or - I dunno - a ten gun salute?'

She giggled again, 'yes, even without all that. It's been everything I could have ever wanted.'

He kissed her, 'even with the others having to dash off back to work? Leavin' just the two of us to celebrate on our lonesome?'

'That's the best kind of celebrating,' she leaned in for another kiss, 'it means we get to decide, whenever we want, when it's time to go home and start with the naked celebrating.'

Doyle had just taken another sip of champagne, and he choked and began to laugh when he heard what she said. 'That is my favourite kind o' celebratin'.'

'You sure you're up to it?' she asked wickedly.

'Is stamina not my second middle name?'

'See … perfect.' Her nose suddenly wrinkled and she put her glass down on the table and her hand up to her head. 'Or it would be if I didn't have these stupid hair pins digging into my scalp.'

'You have to suffer to be beautiful.'

'What happened to me always being beautiful?' she asked, as she dug around, trying to work one of the grips free from her elegant curls of hair.

'Ah - y' got me. That was just a pretty lie I was tellin' y' to get you into bed.'

'Well, it's a good job I wanna naked celebrate for my own sake, otherwise I'd be cutting you off, buster.' Her face contorted into a grimace of concentration. 'Nhgg hh,' she finally pulled the grip loose without messing up the curl too much. 'How does that look?'

'Fine - I mean, I'm embarrassed to be seen with you in public looking that way but…'

'You make a terrible husband,' she told him - her brow was arched, but she was unable to suppress the smile. She looked at the hair pin in her hand, clutched between her thumb and forefinger, as if wondering what to do with it.

'Here,' he reached out and took it from her and popped it into the now empty breast pocket of his waistcoat. The rings were now firmly on their fingers, there to stay until death did them part, and there was room in the pocket for something else.

'Thanks,' she smiled warmly. 'You know - you look nice today.'

'I do scrub up well. Very dapper in my built up shoes - though I say it myself.'

She laughed, and snuggled closer to him. 'I mean it - you always look nice dressed up like that, very pretty.' He was wearing the same vest and wide collared shirt he'd worn to the ballet, years before, the ban on him wearing proper suits being firmly still in place. He looked just smart enough for a wedding at a courthouse, but not too smart that he didn't look like Doyle. And as far as Cordelia was concerned - there was no point in marrying Doyle if he didn't look like Doyle when she married him.

She rested her head on his shoulder and closed his eyes, as he began to stroke her hair - careful of her elegant, curling updo. 'I wish this day could last forever,' she said.

'Yeah? If it lasted forever we would never get to the naked part.'

'OK - so not forever, but I wish we could extend each moment so it lasted a hundred years. And by the time we got to the naked part we would have had aeons of the perfect day, slowed down and crystallised so we never forgot it.'

'We'll make each moment count,' he promised her, 'we have hours yet before our perfect day has to be over...'

And that was when the vision pain hit him and the images in his mind told him their fairy tale was coming to a premature end ...

* * *

Angel - dressed in his all back sports gear - was out on the racquetball court. It was time for his weekly game with Izzy, the red skinned, goat horned acolyte of Lord D'hakmarth - and a mover and shaker in the demon underworld in his own right.

The ball slammed against the wall and bounced back. The two of them smacked it back and forth, until Angel hit it, it bounced and Izzy missed it. 'Ah, hell,' the red skinned demon said, 'nice one.' They stopped for a break, Izzy grabbing a towel to wipe away the sweat, 'did I tell you I bumped into Ed the other day?' he asked.

'Ed?'

'The Grand Potentate watchahoosit of the Fell Brethren.'

'Right. Ed. How is Ed?'

'You know the Fells, all they can talk about is the baby.' He dropped the towel and picked up his racquet once more. 'The baby's doing this now, the baby's doing that. What a wonderful ritual sacrifice he'll make. Yak yak yak. Anyway - couldn't say enough nice things about you. You're really coming through big guy - there's a real buzz about you.'

They got back into position, ready to play again. Angel glanced to his side, looking at Izzy awkwardly. 'So - how much longer do I have to wait for an answer?'

'Hey - these things take time. Trust me - won't be long now.'

Angel served the ball and they began to play a second game.

* * *

'Not that I'm complaining, Lord knows I knew what I was getting into when I married The Promised One and all, but do you think any other girl in the history of the entire world had to spend her _wedding day_ like this?' Cordelia asked - and despite her claim, it did sound like maybe she was complaining just a little. Not that Doyle could blame her - was one perfect day really too much for them to ask for? Apparently the universe thought 'yes.'

He looked over at her. She was still in her floating, white wedding dress, diamond and ruby necklace, and high heels; though she had pulled his black leather jacket on over the top of her gown for warmth. Her hair was still elegantly styled and curled. She didn't look much like a slayer right now. In fact, standing in this dusty, dirty and deserted demon lair, she looked like she belonged to a completely different world. A more glamorous, shimmering, ephemeral world. Or maybe just the normal one - where she would get to be a bride for the day without having to go out and fight for her life. He wondered if any other slayers in history had ever had to go out on the hunt in a floor length, white dress. It didn't seem very practical.

'Are you sure this is the place?' she looked around, her nose wrinkled in distaste, 'there's nobody here.'

'This is the place.'

'Then we're too late.'

But he shook his head, he didn't think so - there was a plate lying abandoned on the table, he stuck his finger into the food to test it. 'Still warm,' he told her and then morphed into his demon spikes for just a moment and sniffed. 'Fear.'

'Where?'

'Everywhere.' He shook the spikes off and then kicked the rug to one side, revealing a trap door in the floor. 'Down here.' Together, they hauled back on the trap door and lifted it up - before crouching down and peering inside. A demon family peered back out at them, looking terrified. They had the familiar greyish skin, hollow cheeks and frightened eyes of the Lister demons - and they were hidden away under the floorboards, just like that first group of their kind that Doyle had met so many years before.

'It's OK,' he said to them, keeping his voice soft so as to not frighten them further, 'we're here to help.'

* * *

The tracks of the abandoned roller coaster loomed high overhead, soaring into the sky like the broken bones of some gigantic prehistoric beast. The deserted concession stands stood blank and eerie, and Spike and Fred moved cautiously through the park, alert for anything that might be lurking in the shadows of this disused and neglected funfair.

'Thanks for inviting me along,' Fred said - glancing askance at the remains of the bumper cars.

'No problems.'

'How come you invited me along?'

He shrugged. 'Figured we needed to test you out in the real world - those new powers and all that. And this seems as good a place as any. Boretz demons are nasty buggers, stink to high heaven - dress up as vagabonds in order to dupe the down and outs into getting close enough to kill. Lots of teeth. But as long as you stay with the Big Bad, could be a decent spot of violence for you to test your limits without ever risking getting in trouble. I got your back.'

'Good thinking.' Though she didn't look a hundred percent convinced. 'Honestly, I'm actually glad to get a chance to be away from Wesley.'

'Trouble in paradise?'

'Complete lack of paradise,' she corrected, 'but also trouble. I'm trying to stay out of his way - I guess it's easier. I mean, he hasn't said anything but … has he said anything? To you?'

'Not to me, pet,' Spike said to her, 'but then I'm not his confidante am I? That job goes to a leggy, brunette type - goes by the name of Mrs. Evil 2004.'

'Right, Lilah,' she gave a snort of disappointed laughter, 'I guess if I wanna know what Wesley's thinking, I should just ask her.'

'So you wanna know what Wes is thinking?'

'I just … I don't want him to be hurt.'

'Might be a bit late for that, love.'

'I just want him to be OK. I don't wanna be with him - not right now anyway - but I wanna know he's OK with that.'

'Well, he might nor be,' Spike told her, 'but even if he isn't - it doesn't change anything, does it?'

She shook her head - no it didn't change anything. They were where they were and they both had to accept it. Move on. She looked around her, anxious to change the subject, though she was the one who had brought it up in the first place. 'So how come Angel isn't out here, fighting the good fight with us? I would have thought - dead girl, vicious monster - that's right up his street.'

'Angel's changed address,' Spike said succinctly. He saw the look on Fred's face and elaborated. 'You've been distracted, Fred, I get it - Blue Thunder taking you over - losing yourself like that. Can't have been easy. But whilst you were down and out, Angel went on a spiritual journey to the land of He's Lost It. He doesn't care about cases like this anymore. If he can't gain from it, he doesn't wanna know.'

Fred wrinkled her nose, 'that's not like Angel.'

'No it's not. I think corporate living's made him lose his love for the hunt. No worries, then. More for me.'

'It doesn't serve his interest,' Fred said quietly, under her breath. But Spike heard and turned back to look at her. 'What are you on about?'

She shook her head. 'I can see - the parts of me that can still feel Illyria, still know what she knows … Illyria's seen this before, a thousand times. But she must be wrong - not Angel. Out of everyone, not Angel.'

'Not Angel what?'

'He's been corrupted. It always starts the same. With any ruler. He turns a blind eye to battles he can't gain from. He stops listening to the advice of his closest friends and as his strength increases, so does the separation between him and his followers.'

Spike looked conflicted. 'That does kinda sound like the big guy right now but … nah… it's not that I don't think the sod could end up being a meglomaniacal bastard, it's just that I'd know it if he did. I'd feel it.'

'Yeah - you're right. Illyria doesn't know _Angel_. Just 'cause this pattern has played out a thousand times before doesn't mean this time is the same. Only …'

'Only what?'

'If she _is_ right, we'll see it soon enough. A corrupted ruler sees betrayal and treachery all around him. He can't bear to have friends, to keep them close, and eventually he turns on them. If Illyria's right - if Angel's on this path, he'll kill one of us before this is done.'

'Actually,' a figure stumbled out of the shadows. He was wounded, clutching his midsection - and collapsed into Spike's arms. 'He has already tried.'

'Drogyn?' Spike said, in surprise, recognising the man, as the light from the security lamps fell across his face.

'You know this man?' Fred asked.

'So do you, love. This is Drogyn. Keeper of the Deeper Well - guardian of the Old Ones. He performed the spell to draw Illyria out of you.'

'And it seems it was a success,' Drogyn gasped, looking at Fred, seeing that her eyes were no longer blue. 'I feared you would lose yourself in the thrall of the Old One - it is good to see you won the day … although perhaps it is still too late for us all.'

'What do you -'

'Boretz,' Spike cut her off - looking up and seeing the demon they were there to fight jumping down from the roller coaster and hurtling towards them.

Fred pushed the injured Drogyn out of the way, and Spike set to beating up the boretz, smashing his fist in its face - and kicking out. Unfortunately, the fight was evenly matched and the boretz gave as good as it got. It roared out and smacked Spike a hard right cross, and Spike was thrown through the air - smashing into a power junction box and falling to the floor.

The boretz then turned on Fred, who stared up at it in wide eyed fright. It swung at her and she ducked. 'Stay away from its teeth!' Spike yelled his advice to her, struggling back to his feet, 'its bite's poisonous. Go for its knees. I think it's a weak spot.'

Fred ducked another blow and jumped back, squealing in alarm. It ran at her, bellowing and, scrunching her eyes tight shut, she instinctively flung her arms out to protect herself. Without meaning to, she grabbed hold of the boretz, and then her leg snapped out, kicking it in the chest. It landed with such impact that the demon was catapulted through the air and smashed through the wooden struts holding up the roller coaster.

'Uh - yeah - good - that'll do it.' Spike said, sounding both surprised and impressed. But Fred was still hunched over - her eyes closed and her face scrunched up as if she didn't realise the danger was over. 'Uh - Fred?' he crossed to her and tapped her on the shoulder.

She squealed in fright and lashed out, but he managed to catch her fist before the blow landed, and she finally opened her yes. 'It's over,' he said to her gently. 'You killed it.'

'I did?' she asked, in a small and shaking voice, she turned and saw the destruction and her eyes grew wide once more. 'I did!'

'Come on,' he led her over to where Drogyn was still struggling to stand. 'Drogyn, what the hell are you doing here?' he caught the flash of annoyance on the warrior's face. 'Oh and don't give me that "ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies" bugaboo.'

'I came to find you,' Drogyn gasped, his voice strained. 'I can find anyone who has visited the well, be it in this world or any other. I came to … to warn you …' he stumbled and collapsed. Spike caught him and stopped him from falling. 'Warn?'

'He's bleeding,' Fred said.

'You're all torn up, mate. Who did this to you? The boretz, was it?'

But Drogyn shook his head, 'no,' he gasped, struggling to get his words out, 'it was… Angel.'


	83. Power Play: Part Two

_Part Two_

The door buckled and then collapsed. The demons inside screamed - and then the jackboots pounded through the entryway and the soldiers smashed everything apart, grabbed the terrified family and dragged them out into the open.

They were bundled into a truck, already filled with other demons - of all species, from stone cold killers to gentle, balancing entities and all kinds of families somewhere in the middle. A Yarbnie sat in the corner of the truck, rocking slightly, 'oh god oh god oh god,' it muttered over and over.

'What is it?' the newest demon arrival asked the three horned, green eyed Marakla demon beside him. The Marakla demon looked at him - his green eyes filled with fear, 'the end,' he said succinctly.

The soldiers returned, banged on the top of the truck - and the truck drove off.

...

Beneath the ground, in the sewers, exactly the same thing was happening over and over. An elderly couple of Codger demons were pulled from their lair, bewildered, frightened and distressed, and praying to Gurfog to save them. A Skench demon was dragged out from the place it was squatting, a Durslar Beast was chased through miles of underground tunnels before it was caught and a whole nest of lizard-like demons and their hatchlings were brutally beaten and then tied up and taken up to the trucks. And then, once again, the truck drove away - taking the hostages to their final destination.

...

Vito, the Lubbock demon, had a poker ring going when his own front door started to buckle. His games had been getting smaller and smaller, as Doyle evacuated more and more demons out of the city - but not all of them agreed to flee, not all of them got the news, and some were too afraid or too mistrustful to turn to humans for help. He still had a few of his regulars.

The game had just started, the kittens were in the basket and the cards dealt out, when the squeal of tyres and the screech of brakes announced the arrival of the trucks. And then the pounding started - the door vibrating and shaking so hard that clouds of dust began to shake loose from the ceiling and drift down into the room.

'What is it? What's going on?' A Torto demon had jumped to its feet, looking angry - its parasite had begun to scream. Vito stood up more slowly, turning to face the door, a sinking feeling of dread overwhelming him as he realised what waited on the other side. 'The Scourge,' he said quietly. He turned to look at his patrons, 'gentlemen … it's been an honour.' And the door smashed in - and the soldiers rushed through. Those demons that fought were killed in short order, the rest were dragged outside and taken - same as all the others. The kittens, still trapped in their basket, smelled the blood in the air and whimpered in fear.

* * *

Wesley crossed the lobby and stopped by the front desk, grabbing a pen from Harmony and using the sign-in book to draw the symbol he had seen mysteriously appear on the page. Harmony watched him, as he scrawled a circle and then began to add on the eight little shapes, jutting off it like thorns. 'That'd look good on a calf,' she told him.

'What?'

'You're thinking of getting a tattoo, right? Put a little more bad in your bad boy bank. It should go on your calf.'

He ignored her, put the pen down, ripped the page with the drawing out of the book and headed for Angel's office.

He was headed off by Lilah, who appeared, as if from nowhere, just outside of Angel's door. 'Wesley! How can I help you?'

'You can't,' he said tersely, 'I need to speak to Angel.'

But she blocked his path. 'No can do, lover. I've just been called down to Angel's office for a meeting. Top priority he says, business strategy, so no dawdling, no time wasting … no stopping to flirt with you,' she flashed him her most wolfish smile. 'The big guy's got a bee in his bonnet about something and he is not free for a chat with one of his grunts.'

'Well - I'll just ask him about that,' he made to move past her, but she blocked his way again - just as Angel's irritable voice could be heard calling for her from inside the office. 'Lilah!'

She gave Wesley a 'told you so' shrug, shouted 'coming' to her boss and then turned back to her former lover. 'Sorry about that - better luck next time,' and she closed the office doors in his face.

Wesley blinked in surprise, as the doors were slammed in his face, and then shook his head and turned back to his own office. He met Lorne on the way. 'Is Angel in his office?' the anagogic demon asked.

'He is.'

'What's the weather report?'

'I wouldn't know. I didn't get to see him. He doesn't have time to chat with the "grunts" apparently.'

'And - uh - "grunts" would be the likes of you and I these days?'

'Apparently.' They continued to head away from Angel's office and towards Wesley's. They always seemed to be meeting in each other's offices these days, cloistered in there to discuss the ever growing Angel problem. 'He cut 6 of my clients loose without telling me,' Lorne said. 'I've spent all day talking them off ledges and out of pill bottles.'

'I imagine suicidal celebrities are beneath Angel's concern right now,' Wesley said wryly. As he neared his office, Gunn came out of his own to meet them. Clearly, he had been waiting. 'What did he say?' he asked.

'Nothing,' Wesley replied, heading for his desk, the others followed him inside. 'I didn't get a chance to speak with him. He wants to talk to Lilah - business strategy - doesn't have time to meet with us.'

'It's like Angel suddenly started channelling Leona Helmsley,' Lorne said.

Wesley nodded, 'he's not himself, at any rate.' The phone began to ring and he snatched it up, 'hello? Spike…'

* * *

They helped the small family of Lister demons out of their hideyhole - though they were reluctant to clamber out. 'You don't understand,' the father told them, 'The Scourge...'

'Yeah, bud - we know all about it.' Doyle held out his hand and helped the heavily pregnant mother up through the trap door, before leaning down to grab the two little ones; straightening up once they were all back in the room, proper .

'They're coming,' the man said, looking around fearfully - clearly regretting leaving their hidden space.

'Why are you still here?' Cordelia asked him, 'we've been getting people out of town for months - you need to escape. You should be on Briole with the others.'

The whole family managed to look surprised when they heard that. 'You know about Briole?' the woman asked, her voice shook and tears stood out in her eyes.

'Uhuh - we helped the last lot of you guys get there years ago, pulled them out from right under The Scourge's noses - and we can do the same for you, but we need to scuttle our butts outta here and make a plan.'

But the demon man shook his head. 'There's no time. Not anymore. There is no escape - we can only hide - and hope. It's tonight.'

Cordelia and Doyle looked at each other, doubt and uncertainty and the first tinges of fear beginning to rise. 'What do y' mean, it's tonight?' Doyle asked - though he already knew, deep inside of him. The soldiers had told them - just last week - that in a week's time they would be ready to bring about their new world order. Today was the day. His wedding day - _their_ wedding day. Of course it was.

'They're going to use the beacon,' he heard Cordelia breathe, and he could hear the fear in her voice. 'We need to get out of here - out of this city…'

'Cordelia - no…' he turned to look at her in surprise - and was then even more surprised to see the way she was looking at him. Staring at him. With tears in her eyes. 'We need to leave - we need to get far far away,' she said - her voice was hard and determined … and shaking with fear.

'You know we can't do that. I'm the only one who can stop them. It's my destiny.' This was what they had been preparing for for weeks now - months even, he didn't understand why she suddenly wanted to just cut and run.

'No!' her lower lip began to tremble, and the tears threatened to spill out over her cheeks. 'Not today. Not you. Not _today_. You know what happened to you last time The Scourge used their beacon - what really happened. We both know what you mean when you say it's your destiny. I won't let you. Not today. Not ever.'

'Nothing's written in stone,' he said to her softly, realising what she was afraid of. 'We're a lot further along than we were last time. It could turn out different.'

'_It's our wedding day!' _

'Cordy …' he didn't know what to say to her. He got it now - why she wanted to run, why - today of all days - she wanted to turn her back on the good fight and just get the hell out of there. Hell - he wanted to do the same himself. But he couldn't. If the Listers were right, then today was the day he was destined for, what he had been born to do, his redemption and atonement all wrapped up in one. He couldn't run from that and leave others to die - like he had the first time, with his own family. It was like he had just said - they were a lot further along than they had been before. _He_ was a lot further along. A new man - a better one.

He had Cordelia to thank for so much of that, she had saved him in so many different ways, and he had tried so hard to be the man she believed he was that he had ended up turning into him. He couldn't now let her down and crawl right back to being the coward and the loser who had let his family die. Even if she thought she wanted to protect him from his own destiny, no matter what the cost, Cordelia didn't really want that. If he ran away now, the day would come when she didn't really want him - he would be too much of a disappointment. She might not see that yet - but one day she would. And he would rather die today, as the man Cordelia wanted him to be, the man she loved, the man he was supposed to be - than live a long and empty life with nothing but regret and recriminations, watching everything fall apart … again.

He suddenly became aware of the family of Lister demons - still frightened and now confused, as their would-be rescuers stopped mid rescue to have an argument. The good fight had to come first. One mission at a time. He had a vision - and that was what needed sorting before anything else, he needed to make this family safe. 'Look, Cordy - we'll make a plan later, it won't be like the first time, I promise, but I had a vision - and that means our priority right now has to be savin' these people. You know it does.'

Much as though she looked like she still wasn't done arguing, she still nodded in agreement. She was too much of a hero to turn down a hopeless type in need.

'OK,' he turned back to the family, 'first things first - we need to get you outta here, 'cause if that trap door didn't fool us, it's not gonna fool The Scourge. Once we're somewhere safer - we'll make a plan.' He picked up the smallest child, nodding at the father to do the same with the other. 'Cordy - help her,' he said, gesturing towards the pregnant demon woman - and then he carried the child across to the door, opened it cautiously, signalled the others to follow him and went out into the night.

* * *

Angel drummed his fingers against his desk and glanced sideways at his phone, willing it to ring. He should be getting an answer - any minute now. And then he would know if his plan was on … or if it was over before it had even begun.

'There have been several reports of disturbances downtown,' Lilah was saying to him, placing files on the desk for him to look at, he was barely listening to her. 'A demon army - of sorts - rounding up lowlifes and squatters, sewer dwellers and the like. We're not sure yet to what end.'

He furrowed his brow, 'they attacking any of our clients?'

'They're staying away from the higher echelons - for now,' she told him. 'Those under the protection of Wolfram and Hart have not been targeted - directly or otherwise. This is some kind of underworld skirmish.'

'So … we don't need to do anything about it. Just let the lowlifes kill each other, and wait for the dust to settle.' He began to tap his foot impatiently, his entire attention focused on the phone. He brought a hand down to his knee to try and stop his restless leg from moving. If Lilah noted his distraction, she didn't say anything.

'There has been one recent report,' she said, 'a certain half breed and a certain slayer were seen entering the current war zone.'

That got his attention, he dragged his eyes away from the phone and looked at Lilah, 'Doyle and Cordy? Are out there in the middle of this?'

'It seems the brand new Mr. Chase had a vision.'

'Are they OK?'

She shrugged. 'They're there - that's all I know.'

'But they were sent - by The Powers…' his eyes strayed back to the phone. Why did it have to be tonight of all nights? 'That must mean The Powers think they can handle it.'

'Maybe.'

'It's their job,' he said, now staring completely at the phone once again. Whatever was going on out there tonight, whatever Doyle and Cordy were mixed up in - it couldn't be as big as what he had going on. The Powers had told Doyle to go to this fight. The Powers had told him, Angel, to take down The Senior Partners once and for all … they couldn't mean for him to drop everything, give up his chance of escaping this place, to go and help the other half of his family. They couldn't want that. And if he turned his back on Doyle and Cordy, left them in danger and didn't help … then The Senior Partners couldn't possibly doubt his loyalty. It may even swing things in his favour. He just had to hope against hope his oldest friends would not end up becoming collateral in his crusade.

'They've managed without the rest of the team this past year,' he said, 'Cordelia's a slayer - whatever's out there, they can handle it. If our clients aren't affected … then it doesn't affect our bottom line. We can't afford to get mixed up in some underworld war - not so far into the quarter.'

Lilah raised an eyebrow, 'look at the company man, he's new all over.' But Angel ignored her, and kept staring at the phone.

* * *

The street was dark, which was good - because the small group wanted to stay hidden in the shadows and move without being seen. 'If we take 'em back to our place,' Doyle was saying, hurrying along with the youngest child still balanced on his hip, 'then we can at least…'

He was cut off by the noise of an engine - and a truck turning the corner at the other end of the block. 'It's them!' Cordelia cried, 'run!' and she pushed the whole group ahead of herself - ushering them down the road. Behind them, the sound of the jackboots hitting the asphalt reverberated down the street.

Doyle led the way, fleeing round a corner. The little girl he was holding began to cry - but he didn't have time to stop and comfort her. Cordelia was now half pushing, half dragging the mother along - the demon woman was almost faint with fear and struggling to keep up with the men, even weighed down by the children as they were.

The clamour and clatter of The Scourge grew louder and nearer. 'They're somewhere around here!' they heard one soldier yell, 'find them!'

There was the sound of shattering glass - and then the sudden woomph of flames taking hold as a car was set on fire, the flickering light lit up the way - but also illuminated the small, fleeing group. And then came the earth shuddering, in-step thunder of an entire regiment running after them in military lines. Pebbles on the ground began to bounce - and there was more shattering glass, more flames - throwing hideous and massive shadows of the tramping army up onto the wall.

'This way,' Doyle dove down an alley, barely glancing back to check the others were keeping up, trusting Cordelia would make sure they all followed him. 'We can't keep running,' Cordy hissed, 'they're too fast - and she can't keep up,' she motioned to the demon mother, who was practically dead on her feet and clutching at her massive pregnancy bump. 'We need to hide.'

'Right,' he looked around, and then ushered them towards a shop door - the shutters were pulled down the windows and it was locked up tight. 'Cordy - '

Cordelia pushed her way to the front and broke the lock, opening the door and standing aside as everyone hurried through, then she closed it behind her - pulling it almost to - but leaving a crack she could still see out of.

'Now what?' the demon man asked.

'We wait,' Doyle told him.

* * *

The men found Spike and Fred in Spike's apartment with an injured man that only Wesley recognised. They had met - although that wasn't why Wesley knew him, those hours at the well - he had paid no attention to anything besides Fred. But Drogyn's reputation preceded him amongst the Watcher's Council of England.

'What's going on?' Gunn asked, frowning at the stranger on the sofa. Spike filled them in on everything he knew - and then yielded the floor to Drogyn to take up the rest of the tale. 'It was a Sathari,' Drogyn told them all, 'part of a demon clan of assassins. It fell upon me last night … once I bested him, I tortured the Sathari for hours until he confessed who had sent him. It was Angel.'

'Tell 'em why,' Spike prompted.

Drogyn looked troubled as he recounted his tale - that the Sathari had said Angel was afraid Drogyn might find something in the Deeper Well - something that would uncover Angel's involvement.

'In what?' Gunn asked - not yet understanding.

'In helping Illyria escape from her tomb.'

Wesley shook his head - thinking of all that pain, and where it had led them in the end. 'I thought the release of Illyria's sarcophagus was preordained,' he said.

'That's what I thought at the time, but now I believe … Illyria's resurrection may have been planned.'

'By Angel,' Gunn said, not yet believing.

He wasn't the only one. Fred shook her head, remembering that time that was only a couple of months ago but seemed like a lifetime. 'Angel wasn't the one who went to all the trouble of getting the sarcophagus into my lab - that was Knox, remember? He was behind this.'

'And anyway it doesn't make a lick of sense,' Lorne agreed with her, 'why would Angel want to spring an Old One?'

Drogyn looked pained, he did not think that was the point of it … before he had died, the assassin had something about a sacrifice. Someone trusted and dear.

Wesley furrowed his brow, 'are you saying Angel was responsible for what happened to Fred?'

'He may not have chosen her specifically but …'

'No!' Fred cried out, 'I don't believe it. I won't. Not Angel. Anybody else in the world and I might believe … but not Angel. He would never hurt me. Knox…'

'Was a cog in a machine,' Wesley interrupted her without taking his eyes off Drogyn. 'That does not preclude Angel also being part of that machine for his own ends. If he got wind of this plan … maybe saw his chance.'

'No!'

'I know this is difficult for you,' Drogyn said to her - to all of them - earnestly. 'I held Angel an ally, a brother - but he was involved. The information retrieved from the assassin...'

'You ever think he was lying?' Gunn asked angrily.

'No one lies when they are the mercy of my wrath.'

'Then you're the one that's lying, Aragorn.'

'He has to tell the truth,' Spike shook his head and explained. He had been at the wrong end of the not asking questions bit too many times to not remember that. 'It's a curse or something.'

'How can we be sure, we don't even know this guy.'

But Wesley was sure - though he wished he didn't have this certainty, that he had room for doubt the way the others did. 'Gunn, this is Drogyn, the battlebrand, given eternal youth a thousand years ago. Demonbane, truthsayer…'

'Percy did a paper,' Spike nodded - seeing that this settled the matter, 'bully for him.'

Having reached the end of the matter, Wesley took out his drawing of the mysterious symbol and showed it to Drogyn, asking him if he knew what it meant. But Drogyn answered in the negative, he had not seen it before and it meant nothing to him.

Spike grabbed the drawing from Wesley's hand and studied it, 'where did you get this?'

'This afternoon. Someone tapped into the template interface. Sent me a message along with that symbol. Somebody's dropping clues.'

'Playing games is more like it,' Gunn snorted.

'I still don't believe it,' Fred shook her head defiantly. 'Not Angel - not _me_. He wouldn't.'

'He did,' Wesley told her, tersely. He looked around at the men. 'Angel has been behaving out of character for a while now - we've all noticed it. The question is, why the change … And why the sudden need to tie up loose ends like Drogyn, unless…' realisation hit him, cold and sinking, in the pit of his stomach, 'he's planning on making his move.'

'What kind of move are we talking about?' Gunn asked.

'There's only one way to find out,' he began to head for the door, the others started to follow. 'Drogyn is injured - he should stay here, Spike, is this place safe - does Angel know where it is?'

'He's never stopped by for a visit.'

'Let's go then.'

* * *

The trucks that reached the final destination pulled up and surrounded the building - and then, with shouts and curses and threats of violence, they unloaded their frightened demon cargo, pushing them inside.

Inside, chaos ruled - though the roars of The Scourge, and the occasional blow or cracking of a whip sought to restore some semblance of order. The demons were being herded up the stairs, higher and higher up the building. There was fighting breaking out, and crying and screams of fear - and all the while this tumult of bodies were forced up the stairwells, higher and higher: falling over each over, tripping up the stairs, stumbling, tumbling back down and knocking over other demons as they fell, screaming as they got separated from loved ones in the crush - and through it all, The Scourge kept on herding them upwards.

Mixed in the middle of all this - were the frightened and uncomprehending humans who worked in the building. They too were being dragged out of their offices and forced upward. Most had never seen a demon before, had no idea of the world that existed in secret around them. They stared at the victims of The Scourge as fearfully as they stared at the soldiers themselves. They cried and prayed to their human gods … but the higher powers were all busy that night, looking the other way - watching the machinations of the power elite.

Hell had finally come to town - and now even the humans were noticing.

* * *

The regiment of soldiers had split into pairs to search for them. The small group stood absolutely still, trying not to breathe, hidden inside the darkened store. Cordelia was still watching carefully, through the door - watching The Scourge hunt for them, like terriers hunting for rats. Doyle watched Cordy. The whiteness of her dress seemed to gleam in the darkness, it seemed impossible to think that their wedding had only been a matter of hours ago - and yet here they were, pulled right back down into the darkness and the bloodshed.

It wasn't their spoiled perfect day that was worrying him about her, though, or the darkness and bloodshed - that was a part of their lives. It was the strain she was under worrying about him that worried him - he wished she didn't have to feel that, not today, that he could be normal for her for just one day. But he couldn't. The weight of destiny was pressing down on his shoulders, making his chest tight - tonight was the night - the night they had been building up to for months … for the past five years if he was honest.

This night had been inevitable ever since things had been changed the first time around. And Cordelia was afraid that destiny was about to be reset - the world turned back the way it should be. She was afraid Doyle was going to die destroying the beacon - the way he was always supposed to. He wished he could reassure her, wished he could tell her that things would be different … but the tightness of his chest told him that would be a lie. The end of the road was in sight, and the road - for him - always ended with The Scourge.

A sudden, sharp inhalation from Cordelia alerted the rest of the group to the fact they were discovered. As she peered through the crack in the doorway, she saw one soldier head straight for their hiding place. But it was only one for now - the other half of the pair was searching over on the opposite sidewalk.

'Get back,' she hissed at them, and they shuffled further inside the store - leaving her alone at the door. She waited. And waited … and just as the soldier reached out for the handle, she yanked the door backwards, opening it, only to then slam it tight shut - hitting the soldier right in the face. Then she pulled the door open and the dazed soldier stumbled over the threshold.

The Lister demons screamed - but Cordy had already stuck a foot out to trip him up, as he fell she brought her fist down hard on the back of it's head. It crumpled to the floor face first, and she put one foot on its back, reached down and snapped its neck with her bare hands. 'OK - run - now!' she yelled - and they fled back out into the street.

They had only gone a few steps when the other soldier spotted them - and began to yell for back up. 'Keep running,' Cordy told them, pushing them forward. Then she came to a stop in the middle of the street and turned to face the soldier. Doyle faltered to a stop and turned back to her. She shook her head, 'I'll catch up - get out of here - go!'

Regretfully, he turned away from her and led the family onward. His job was to protect the family, he had to trust that Cordelia would be OK, that she knew what she was doing … though he hated leaving her there to fight the soldiers alone, with no weapons. As he turned the corner, he cast one last look back at her - she still gleamed white in the darkness … and then she was out of sight, and all he could hear was the sounds of battle - as Cordelia fought alone, unarmed and out numbered - on her wedding day - in order to give this family of demons, these total strangers, a chance to escape.

* * *

Angel stood at the front desk, reviewing a contract … he had so much going on right now, his own diabolical schemes, worrying about Doyle and Cordy and doing nothing to help, trying to keep this place running, keeping his front up for both his friends and his enemies, making them all believe the one was the other - his head throbbed with the weight of it all. He crossed some things out on the paper in front of him, 'strike out these four clauses, send it back to 'em - see what they make of that.'

'Yeah - see what they make of that!' Harmony echoed him enthusiastically, just as the elevator doors opened and the team stepped out. Angel looked them all up and down, 'long dinner?'

'We need to talk,' Wesley said grimly - not even stopping, just leading everyone towards Angel's office. Angel didn't move, he watched them walk by. Only Spike stopped. 'You coming then?' the other vampire asked. He didn't sound too friendly and his expression matched perfectly everyone else's. So this was where they were. Spike - _Spike _\- was in the mix, part of the team, _Angel's_ team, right there at the centre - and Angel was on the outs. This was where his plotting and planning had led them, and it was too late to regret it now.

He followed them into the office, 'what's on your minds?' he asked them - his voice edged between pleasant and derisive. He walked over to the window and looked out, keeping his back turned to them, showing them with his actions the distance that existed between them - how much he didn't care.

'Question is - what's on yours?' Lorne asked him.

'Our friend Drogyn's in town,' Spike said.

'Is he?' he kept his voice disinterested - as if this was no great concern to him.

'Yeah - a bit marked up, though, someone tried to have him killed. Know anything about that?'

'Of course not,' he turned to look then, as if this next part mattered so much he couldn't conceal his true intentions, 'where is he?' His voice was sharp and interested now - and that made the team all raise their eyebrows. They should have remembered he was a master actor, but this was too easy, he was playing them like a fiddle.

'He's safe,' Gunn said - keeping it short and enigmatic, not giving away information to a man he no longer trusted.

'Good. Now, can we get back to business - or was there something else?'

'Business?' Wesley repeated the word, 'what business are we in exactly?'

Angel rolled his eyes and sighed ostentatiously. 'Do I really have to explain this to you people? We're in the business of business. Oil, software, worldwide wickets, the product doesn't matter. It's the game that matters. Get to the top, be the best, have the most, win.'

'Win _what?_'

'You're still missing the point.' He left the window and walked over to his desk. The rest stayed where they were, still watching him closely. They were right in his trap now, right where he needed them to be. He hoped The Senior Partners had their eyes on this little tableau.

'You wanna know the truth?' he asked, 'the truth is there's only one of us who ever understood how things really work. Lorne.'

Lorne shook his head, looking horrified, 'woah woah - can I not be the poster child for your nervous breakdown here?'

'You didn't judge,' Angel told him, 'you didn't spend your life obsessed with good and evil. You do that, you get swallowed - lost in the minutia. Good, bad, Angel , Angelus - none of it makes a difference. I wish it did, but you know, an ant with the best intentions or the most diabolical schemes is just exactly an ant.' He stood up straighter and stared them all down. 'There is one thing is this business, in this apocalypse that we call a world, that matters. Power. Power tips the scale, power sets the course and until I have real power, _global _power, I have nothing. I accomplish nothing.'

'And how you get this power?' Wesley asked him.

'Isn't pretty,' he admitted, though there was no note of apology in his voice - he still spoke with the same, hard, matter of fact tone. 'Isn't fun.' He walked around his desk until he was standing right in front of Wesley. 'You think it's Wolfram and Hart getting to me here. And maybe you're right, because they've shown us what power is. From day one they've been calling the shots - and all we've done is get shot at.' He turned to look at Gunn, 'you know that.'

'I do?'

'Sure you do, Chuck. You let them into your brain because you wanted a piece of what they had to offer. They turned you into their whipping boy and then took that piece right back. You've lost it, haven't you? The law. The knowledge, the languages - you lost it all.'

Gunn could feel the eyes of the rest of the team boring into him, he shut them all out and glowered at Angel. 'The price was too high to keep it,' he retorted, through gritted teeth.

'Ah yes - the price … the price of power,' he flashed a grin at Fred. 'too high for some - not for others. Not for those unafraid to take it.'

'Angel -' she started to say, but he ignored her and carried on speaking to Gunn. 'So now you're just pretending you've still got those powers - getting Lilah to cover for you. You know you can't trust her and yet she is the one person in on your secret. Why is that?'

'I -'

'I'll tell you why,' he offered. 'Because it's one thing to lose your powers - the special abilities - but you were not ready to give up on the hard power they gave you, the position they gave you, the way everybody looked at you when they thought you were the guy in the know … you lost your power and concealed it to try and retain your status. It's what every weak ruler ends up having to do. I … I'm not gonna be a weak ruler. I'm taking power that no one can take away from me, and it's only when I'm at that point that I'll actually achieve anything of use in this world. 240 plus years - and I've never achieved anything real. But that all changes. With power.'

'And will you - achieve something, change anything?' Lorne asked, looking nervous. 'I mean, not to play an old saw, but power does traditionally corrupt. You get high up enough and the people, well, they do start to look like ants.'

'I can't worry about that - the small stuff.'

Harmony appeared in the doorway then, tapping on the door. 'Angel - that important phone call from …' she smiled nervously, 'that guy about that thing, it's on line 3.'

Angel nodded, 'we're done here,' he said to his team, 'I need to take this,' he stared at them until they began to file out.

'Yeah, the guy about the thing,' Spike muttered sarcastically as he walked past. Angel just watched him go.

Fred stopped in the doorway and turned back. 'Angel,' her voice had a pleading note to it. 'You didn't have anything to do with what happened to me - with Illyria - I refuse to believe that.'

He only smiled - grim and mocking. 'Thanks, Fred, that's sweet. You're a real peach,' and then slammed the door in her face.

* * *

True to her word, Cordelia had caught up with them. Her hair was mussed and there were some bright red scratches on her face, to go along with her dark and determined expression. She was clutching a sword that she hadn't had before, one that she must have taken from a soldier. From the looks of things - heads had rolled … literally.

The group hurried along the street. The tramping of boots told them The Scourge were close by, and they once more dove down an alley and kept very still - as a regiment of soldiers came thundering past. Once they were gone, they came out again and hurried in the opposite direction.

They passed by street after street of smashed store windows and flaming cars, but figured they were safer on the roads The Scourge had already been down. There were a couple more near misses, moments when they had to seek immediate emergency shelter and hold as still and as silent as they could whilst the regiments rampaged past them.

But once the coast was clear, they were off again - and eventually they had travelled nearly ten minutes without seeing any sign of The Scourge. 'I think we lost them,' Doyle panted. He was still carrying one of the small Lister demons and they had run a very long way already this evening, he was growing very tired. He led them back towards the main road. 'If we can get back to our place, then maybe we should call Angel and the others. If tonight's the night then we're gonna need all the back up we can -'

He was cut off as he rounded the corner and saw the sight in front of him. They were outside city hall. The street was awash with flames; cars and trash cans burning, sending thick smoke into the air and causing the surface of the road to buckle in the heat. Tens of trucks and scores of motorbikes were pulled up, surrounding the building and creating a roadblock. Demons were still being herded out of the back of them - and Scourge soldiers swarmed the entire area - the flickering flames of their fires casting monstrous shadows on the walls. It looked like a scene straight out of hell.

Worst of all - high up, by the tower of the building, a large crane was being manoeuvred to fix the final and biggest beacon into place. It was inactive for now, but the light of the fires below reflected on the glass, giving a hint of what was to come. From that point it would shine out and devastate the whole of downtown L.A and beyond. Every man, woman and child, every demon, in the central area would be killed horribly and instantly. And they had ended up right at the locus - right where the soldiers wanted them to be. 'We never lost 'em,' Doyle said, realising, staring open mouthed at the beacon, and feeling that familiar tug of destiny he felt whenever one was close. 'They chased us here … on purpose.'


	84. Power Play: Part Three

_Part Three_

Angel was up in his penthouse. Even though it was late, and Connor was supposed to be asleep, the vampire held his son close, sitting him on his knee, listening to his chatter, reading him a story. The phone call had come through - Angel had got what he wanted. And that meant now was the time - to act, to strike … which meant quiet moments like these were numbered. Perhaps not this moment, but very soon one just like it would be the last time he held his son like this. And the thought broke his unbeating heart.

Connor was the reason - for all of it. Getting Connor out of the clutches of Wolfram and Hart, that was what mattered more than anything else, more than being a champion, more than beating The Senior Partners.

His son had been taken from him twice in his very short life. And both times Angel had moved heaven and earth, done unthinkable things or gone to dangerous places to ensure he got him back. Now, he was going to have to give his son away - forever - to keep him safe. It was ironic, Connor was the reason he was at Wolfram and Hart in the first place. He had signed his life away in order to get his son back - and now that contract, signed in blood, was the reason Angel was going to have send Connor away, ask someone else to raise him - probably forever … because Angel did not fool himself, he knew that he was unlikely to still be standing when the dust settled.

But for now - he had time before his appointment - and was using it to be with his son, to memorise every last atom of him: from his scent, to the way his soft, downy hair stuck up in the front, to his beautiful smile and his little laugh. His darling boy.

'_Too ra loo ra loo ra,' _he sang to him, '_too ra loo ra ay, too ra loo ra loo ra…'_

Connor joined in on the last line: '_that's an Iwish luwabye.'_

* * *

The team had taken a car and were now driving through the streets of L.A - headed somewhere they thought they might get some answers. 'How come you never told us the truth, Charles?' Wesley asked, he was in the passenger seat, the other man was driving.

There was a long pause and then, 'I wasn't ready,' Gunn admitted. 'Angel was right - I didn't wanna give up my position, the way people treated me … I didn't wanna go back to being just the muscle.'

'Why did The Senior Partners make your upgrade fade?'

'I don't know. I went back to the doctor - he offered to give me a permanent upgrade but the price was too high. I couldn't do it.'

'What was the price?' Spike asked from the back seat.

'They wanted me to sign a piece of paper. Get an ancient curio out of customs.'

'Illyria,' Wesley said.

'Yeah. I didn't know it at the time - but I knew it'd be somethin' and - man I hate losing my powers - but I can't say I'm sorry to not have that on my conscience.'

'It was just a piece of paper,' Fred said, she was trapped in the middle of Spike and Lorne, in the backseat. 'You know it wouldn't be your fault, Charles - heck I signed it, does that make what happened to me my fault?'

'That's beside the point,' Wesley said, from upfront, keeping his eyes on the road. 'The question is, how much of this did Angel know about - ahead of time? If he knows the legal upgrade failed … was he involved in that? Did he engineer things so that Gunn would go to that place, sign that document … and then had to improvise when Gunn didn't play ball?'

'I still don't believe -' Fred started to say. 'I mean there must be somethin' else…' she looked around at her companions, 'something we're not seeing, right? I mean - this is Angel we're talkin' about. Angel! He of the noble cause… he wouldn't just … he couldn't … right?'

Lorne patted her knee comfortingly, 'what do you want us to say?' he asked, 'that Angel loves you - that he wouldn't - in an aeon of aeons do anything to hurt you? I wish we could. But if he believes what he's saying, and I believe he does...'

'It still doesn't make sense, though,' Wesley interrupted, 'Angel never cared about power before.'

'Well, he's never had any to care about has he?' Lorne shrugged. 'Not real power, even as Angelus. And then, just like that, he's king of the mountain. It's quite a view from up there. Tends to make people want things. Even if they start with the best of intentions. Angel's seen real power, and he's not looking away, he's gonna go for it.'

His words cast a heavy pall across the car, smothering them in a reflective and miserable silence. Gunn turned the steering wheel, taking them down a side road - and then pulled up at the kerbside and switched off the engine. They had reached where they were going.

As they got out of the car, a speeding convoy passed the end of the street - two motorbikes and then what looked like military trucks packed with demons raced down the main road. Fred wrinkled her nose, 'what's going on there?'

But the men were already entering the building. 'We got bigger things to worry about right now, pet,' Spike said to her. She shrugged and followed them inside. They climbed the stairs, padded down the hallway and then knocked on one of the doors. Lindsey opened it. He looked only mildly surprised to see them - which contrasted greatly with the surprise on Spike's face. 'Doyle!' he exclaimed.

* * *

The real Doyle, however, was miles away from the team - and nowhere near as safe, as he stood in the epicentre of The Scourge's destruction, their ground zero, and realised he had fallen straight into their trap. He looked around desperately, noting all the trucks, parked up to form a barricade, and all the small fires burning away, lighting up the scene with the eerie, uneven quality of their flames. The air was thick with smoke and with screams.

'We just need to …' he began to back away, ushering the others along with him - but then piercing whistles rent the air. 'The Promised One!' he heard cries from the soldiers, 'The Promised One! He's arrived. He's here.' There were more whistles - and then the tramping boots ran straight at them.

Doyle dropped the child he had carried for so long. 'Run,' he said to the family, 'get as far away from me as you can - go…' he stared at the soldiers, coming for him, and only heard the stumbling footsteps that told him the family were trying to flee. He doubted they would get far, the pure blood army had this whole block locked down tight … but even so, they would be safer if they were not in his company.

He felt a warm hand slide into his own, and glanced to the side, taking his eyes off the soldiers for just a moment. It was Cordelia - of course - she hadn't run, she wasn't leaving him.

'You don't have to stay,' he said to her, quietly, squeezing her hand.

'I'm not letting go,' she squeezed right back - and then the soldiers were upon them. 'He's here! He's here - The Promised One!'

Cordelia swung her sword and beheaded the first soldier. Before his head had even hit the ground, she kicked the next one in the chest - glad to have chosen a wedding dress that was so floaty it didn't restrict her movements, and then elbowed a third.

Doyle morphed into his demon spikes and headbutted one, before following it up with a punch. Cordelia kept a tight hold of him the whole time - and they worked as one unit, Cordy using her sword to fend off the attacks, stabbing and beheading wherever she could, and Doyle working as back up, headbutting those that got too close.

But there were just too many of them - they never seemed to stop coming - from all angles, and eventually one managed to duck under Cordy's blade and grab hold of her - yanking her away.

'No!' she clung to Doyle's hand and struggled in the arms of her captor, but she was held too tightly. And once her sword was no longer in action, more soldiers grabbed hold of Doyle, pulling him in the opposite direction.

'No!' Cordy cried again.

'Cordelia!'

They held on for as long as they could, gripping each other's hands tightly - but inch by inch they were pulled away from each other, their hold was loosened... Then they were just brushing fingertips … and then they were separated. 'No!' She struggled and fought with all her might, in the arms of the soldier, biting and clawing and desperately scrabbling to get back to Doyle.

'Cordelia!'

'Doyle!'

But she was held too tightly, and he was being dragged away - further and further - and then he was out of sight. She had let go. She had lost him. She had let them take him.

For just a moment, all the fight went out of her, as a wave of despair crashed through her and she went limp in the soldier's arms. In that moment, she was bundled into city hall - with all the other frightened demons and humans - and lost in the crowd.

She stood a moment, just watching this seething mass, this chaotic ocean of people push around her … feeling empty, feeling lost. And then she snapped into action. She had lost Doyle, she had lost her sword… but she was _Cordelia frickin Doyle_ and she was going to get her husband back.

She began to work her way through the crowd, thrusting demons and humans aside - not really caring or noticing whether it was an evil killer or a terrified paper pusher that got in her way. The Scourge were herding everybody upstairs - to be as close to the beacon as possible. And if they wanted all these guys close to the beacon … then they would want Doyle to have a front row seat when it detonated. He was up there - and she was going to find him. Thrusting more people out of the way, she began to climb the stairs.

* * *

Drogyn sat alone in Spike's underground apartment. The technologies and comforts of the modern age were quite a marvel. He had a drink from that large, cold box in the corner - and another box was showing him images and sounds and things he had never even conceived of. Drogyn had lived a thousand years, had seen much change … and seen how little anything ever changed, but he had not, in all his generations alive, seen such a place as this.

Perhaps there was something to be said for a human lifespan, a human life - a family, a home; free from the responsibilities of good and evil and duty and honour. Perhaps the truth was not his only curse, perhaps his eternal youth, and being the battlebrand, was a curse as well. His well, the cave he lived in close by - they would seem cold and empty and primitive after the wonders he had seen in the new world.

His injuries still troubled him, still pained him - though some of that may be the sorrow at losing an ally in Angel. But he was not yet mended, not yet at his best - and, deathless warrior though he was, he hoped for some respite before his next battle - a chance to heal before he risked being broken again.

But it was not to be. As he sat alone, enjoying the palace that Spike called home, the front door was smashed in - and a man entered, tall and sharply dressed, dusting down his suit. Drogyn had jumped to his feet, alarmed - he recognised this man. They went way back. It was a creature of evil, a child of the Senior Partners - it served their every last bidding, was infused with their power, was their fist on this earth. 'Marcus,' Drogyn said.

'Dro, how have you been?'

'Better,' he indicated his wound.

'Well - you're about to get a whole lot worse.' Marcus drew back his fist and smashed it into Drogyn's face, sending him flying across the room and smacking into the wall opposite. The warrior fell to the ground, unconscious, and the man straightened his suit jacket, shaking his head. 'Going soft in his old age.'

* * *

Lindsey smirked when he saw the whole team at the door. 'Well, look what the cat dragged in - you just in the neighbourhood or…?'

'We're here for answers,' Gunn told him.

The lawyer raised an eyebrow, 'and you think I got 'em? Well, by all means, come on in.' He stepped back to allow them to enter, 'Spike,' he nodded as the vampire walked past him, 'how've you been?'

'What is this?' Spike stood in the middle of the apartment and looked around, 'where are we? Who the bloody hell are you really?'

'Oh - of course - Spike, this is Lindsey, Lindsey McDonald. An acquaintance and sometimes ally of ours … and former lawyer at Wolfram and Hart. Lindsey - this is Spike. Another vampire with a soul,' Wesley made the introductions. Lindsey's smirk grew broader, 'we've met,' he said.

'This bloody git had me running around Los Angeles half the year, thinking I had a destiny. Called himself 'Doyle'. Whole scheme fell apart when I bumped into the real deal after Fred got infected … what was that all about?' he stared accusingly at Lindsey, but the lawyer only shrugged, unabashed. 'Revenge, pure and simple.'

'Yeah? What'd I ever do to you?'

'It wasn't revenge on _you_… It was…'

'Angel,' Wesley said quietly. He had spotted the framed photograph on the coffee table, 'because of what he did to Kate.'

The smirk faded from Lindsey's face, to be replaced with a look of pain, which he struggled to hide. 'Only turns out Angel didn't do it. Angelus neither … I was looking for revenge in the wrong place.'

'Well - don't get ahead of yourself,' Gunn said, settling down on the sofa. 'Angel may not have been to blame for what went down last year … but things have got a little tricker since then.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Angel seems to be getting in touch with his inner Pol Pot,' Spike said, succinctly. 'Seems a place like Wolfram and Hart is changing him.'

'A place like that changes everybody,' Lindsey told them, sitting down in the armchair. 'Angel walked willingly into the belly of a very ugly beast - seems like the place digested him. He's a part of that beast now - so what'd he do?'

The team filled him in, on handing the sorcerer, Miles Kendrick, over to Cyvus Vail for torture; on giving a newborn baby over to a demon cult to be sacrificed and the latest news of agreeing to bring down Senator Brucker's campaign rival. 'Plus we can't forget that little speech he gave - all power and ants and … ants,' Lorne said, nervously.

'So … why are you here?' Lindsey asked, 'what do you think I might know?'

Wesley took out his drawing - the circle with the eight jutting off shapes - and showed it to the lawyer. Lindsey kept his face impassive as he looked at it. 'Where'd you get this?'

'Unclear - do you know what it means?'

Lindsey laughed, 'so this is what it's all about? These questions about Angel? No - no way,' he shook his head. 'No way they'd take Angel.'

'Who's they?' Spike asked.

'The Circle of The Black Thorn. They're a secret society.'

'Aint never heard of them,' Gunn said.

'That's because they're _secret_. The circle's small - elite. They've got connections you guys can't even begin to comprehend.'

'They're evil,' Wesley said.

'Sure,' Lindsey shrugged, 'but evil's not the point - power is.'

Gunn looked annoyed, 'OK - we get it, they're bad ass. But what do they do?'

That only made Lindsey laugh again. 'Jeez! Are you guys always this slow? Starts with "a" ends in "pocalypse". It's a well oiled machine, this circle. These people grease the wheels, keep the parts in place. Make sure man's inhumanity to man just keeps on ticking along.'

Fred was frowning, 'but I thought The Senior Partners were responsible for the apocalypse?' she said, doubtfully.

'The Senior Partners are on a different plane,' Lindsey explained to her, 'down here, it's the players in the circle that make things happen. Hell, you get tapped by one of them, it's like getting the keys to the chocolate factory. To be a black thorn is to be The Senior Partners' instrument on earth. It doesn't get bigger than that… but Angel?' He shook his head again, 'he doesn't have it in him.'

'Doesn't have what in him?' Wesley asked sharply.

'Well,' Lindsey leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other, 'he'd have to give up the champion angle, for starters, quit saving girls in alleyways…' he leaned forward again, the smirk firmly on his face once more. 'Probably wouldn't even make it onto the circle's radar until he killed one of his lieutenants.'

The men all glanced at each other in alarm, and then slowly turned to look at Fred. She shook her head, 'no…' but her every protest was getting weaker.

'The Senior Partners, the circle, they're killing Angel by degrees,' Lorne said, horrified.

Wesley hung his head, 'and we watched it happen.'

'The guy I knew wouldn't want this,' Gunn furrowed his brow, 'wouldn't wanna be this.'

'Angel dedicated his life to helping others,' Wesley said slowly. 'Not because he had to, but because it was the path he'd chosen. If he's been swayed by that, influenced … then maybe there's still time. We can bring him back.' He looked around at the others, hope in his eyes, 'he'd do the same for us, regardless of our actions.' No one knew that better than Wesley - no one knew better Angel's capacity to forgive, to save, to redeem.

But Lorne was looking less convinced. 'What if he's skipped too far down that evil brick road?'

* * *

Doyle was tied up high - lashed to a post out on the ledge directly underneath city hall's pointed tower roof. The beacon was at the top of the tower … he had a front row seat for it's detonation. He would be the first to burn. But certainly not the last.

From up here he could see the city spread out below him - like a tiny toy town of glittering lights. He screwed his eyes up, as a wave of dizziness took over him, feeling glad - for a moment - for the bonds that tethered him safely in place.

The tower of city hall was so tall that, normally, it had a little light on the top to warn low flying planes of its presence. That light had now been replaced by something much bigger and more deadly - and Doyle could see, when he dared to hazard a peek downward, just how much of the city was about to be wiped out.

He could just about make out The Scourge's trucks, and the little fires - shrunk to the size of fireflies, and then further out there was the L.A. traffic snaking out in great metal ribbons. He could see the stores, and the clubs and the bars and the apartment blocks - all filled with hundreds of humans, adding together to form thousands - hundreds of thousands - so many people so tightly packed into such a small radius. They would all die.

And here he was - promised to save them all - and tied to a post, watching it all happen. The first to die.

Overhead, there was a metallic beeping - and then a whirring and the small lights that ran along the control panel of the beacon began to light up, one by one. It had been switched on. It was charging up … there was only minutes left - at best.

As uneasy as his balance was, as terrified as he was of falling, Doyle began to struggle against his ropes. What else could he do? Whether he fell or whether he burned, he was about to die … he should at least try and be a hero about it. Try to save everyone else - like he had done last time, the first time that never happened, when he had pulled the cables. Maybe - just maybe - he could do the same again. Maybe he could save Cordelia. Maybe he could save the world. Even if he couldn't save himself.

The rope was tied around his torso, trapping his arms against his side. With one eye on the powering up beacon, he began to wriggle, trying to work it loose. He turned demon face - hoping his extra strength would help him break through quicker. Eventually - with much manoeuvring and shifting and pulling, he managed to work his right arm free of the rope, and quickly set to pulling it apart, working the knots out and unwrapping it from his body.

It took a couple more minutes of struggling, but then the rope fell from him and hit the ground and - very shakily - he stepped away from the edge of the ledge and made his way towards the roof. 'Don't look down, don't look down,' he muttered, as he kept low and inched his way towards the tower. The breeze felt much stronger and he suddenly felt much more exposed now he was no longer tied in place.

Still in his spikes, he reached the eaves of the roof and counted to three, then to five… when he reached ten he jumped, grabbing hold of the rim and pulling himself up onto the tiles. He began to crawl upward, clinging on for dear life and steadfastly refusing to glance down. God he was high, now. The merest breath of wind could send him falling to his death. 'Keep goin', keep goin'...'

The beacon appeared directly above him, the metal casing suddenly looming over his head as he reached it. He was close enough now to pull himself up onto it's frame.

Most of the little lights were lit up along the control panel - the second to last one was blinking, soon it would shine steady - and the final light would start to blink. And once that was done - the beacon itself would begin to glow. He didn't know how long he had - but he knew it couldn't be long at all. Not long enough.

He clambered up onto the exoskeleton of the beacon - feeling suddenly and ridiculously like a tiny King Kong as he clung to the top of a tower. Smashing the beacon would probably be best, that would mean it was properly destroyed .;.. Though he had nothing to smash it with. Perhaps he should pull the cables first, kill its power source before it took the steps to put it permanently out of action.

But far below him … and without wishing to look … he caught sight of all those trucks barricading them inside the building. If he destroyed this beacon he would save thousands of lives, out there in the wider city - millions if he stopped The Scourge using it on the rest of the world … but there was no way it would protect the demons, the humans and Cordelia inside City Hall. If he destroyed the beacon, the pure blood army would massacre them all in revenge - and he did not know how to prevent that.

* * *

When the team had left, Lindsey picked up the phone and dialled. 'It's Lindsey,' he said, when he heard it picked up at the other end. 'They came - like you said they would. I told them what you wanted me to tell them. They know just enough to have their suspicions confirmed - you've gone to the dark side. They're convinced of it.'

Down the other end of the line, Angel nodded - feeling something akin to relief, but mixed with a healthy dose of grief - that it had come to this, that he had been forced to estrange himself from his own family, make them mistrust him. 'Thanks.'

'No problem.'

Angel put the phone down. It was time to go. Everything was in place, the dice were loaded - now he just needed to roll them.

* * *

Cordelia was still fighting her way upwards, though the crowds were thinning out. The Scourge was still driving their captives up, herding them to the very top of the building - but it was 32 storeys tall and few were making it that far. Cordelia, though, not only had slayer stamina but was fuelled with the desperate desire to find her husband - and the desperate fear of what may have already happened to him.

As she finally pushed her way to the very top floor, and into the hallways filled with milling and frightened demons, she stopped for a moment to get her breath back. Then, looking around, checking no one was paying any attention to her in the chaos, she backed right up to an office door, put her hand on the handle, and broke the lock. Then, quick as a flash, she dove inside and slammed the door behind her.

Then she hurried to the window, threw it open and leaned out as far as she could, craning to look upward, directly overhead. Her level of the building jutted out further than the tower, and she could just make out the shadow of the beacon, looming over them. She caught sight of a sudden movement up there, tiny - so far away - but definitely movement.

Her heart filled with icy dread. Doyle. It was Doyle up there - on that beacon. She knew it. And she knew exactly what he was going to do. What he had done last time. He was going to save them all - and die trying. She would lose him.

She shook her head, pulled herself back inside the room and took off her high heels. This had to be just about the stupidest thing she had ever done. The most dangerous. But there was no way she wasn't doing it. No way she was leaving him up there - to die alone. To leave her behind.

She rifled through the office desk, finding a pair of scissors and, with barely a moment of regret, grabbed a handful of the bottom of her dress and began to cut it away - freeing up her feet and calves. The floaty chiffon drifted to the floor in curling, gleaming strands. She didn't even look back at them as she marched, barefoot, back to the window and pulled herself up onto the ledge. With nothing but her finger and toenails, she was going to cling to the side of this building and crawl her way up to Doyle.

She clutched the side of the window frame and, determinedly not looking down, stepped her first foot out onto the sill. Then - inch by precarious inch - she turned herself around, so she was facing the building and brought her second foot out onto the sill. And then she was just stood out there - 400 feet in the air - clinging to the side of a sheer wall face. She took a moment to steady her breathing, to will her heart to slow down its pounding and stop her palms from slipping with the sweat that came from sheer terror.

She could do this. For Doyle. She could do anything. When a long moment had passed, when she had adjusted to blood freezing fear, she opened her eyes again and reached up to grab onto something higher, lifting her foot to find another foothold in the brickwork... And that was when something grabbed her leg.

She shrieked and let go of the building, freefalling through space - tethered only by the firm grasp on her left leg. As her body tumbled past the window, and she felt herself plummet head first toward the ground, strong arms reached out and grabbed her - pulling her back inside…

But she wasn't rescued. She wasn't saved. It was a soldier that had her. He threw her across the room, she stumbled and hit the floor and he crossed to her and kicked his jackboot hard into her face. 'So the half breed's slayer thinks she will rescue him?' He grabbed her by the hair, she cried out, but he yanked her back to her feet, dragging her face up close to his own, rotting, leathery one. 'Your species is a plague of boils across our earth. But tonight we cleanse it - and neither you, nor your mangy halfbreed Promised One can stop us.'

He dragged her from the office and handed her over to two other soldiers. 'The slayer,' he told them, tersely. 'I caught her attempting to scale up to the beacon. Keep an eye on her - she is dangerous. Do not let her move. We are but moments away.'

She struggled in their grip - but it was no use. Even if she could get free - she could not get to Doyle in time, could not reach the beacon in time.

She knew her life was in no real danger. She did not doubt for a moment that Doyle would save them. But her heart broke, shattered to a thousand pieces inside her chest, and made her breath come out as ragged gasps, when she thought what would happen to him in the process. And she wondered how on earth she would find the strength - the will - after the beacon was destroyed, to kill these soldiers, save these people and leave this building … a widow.

* * *

Doyle had now climbed his way between the metal bars that made up the casing of the beacon and was feeling much safer, standing on the platform. Safer from falling, that was, the last warm up light had started to blink, the beacon was whirring even louder and he knew. if he didn't act soon, then hideous and agonising death was on its way.

Trying not to think about the image of his own face burning off, which he had seen once upon a simpler time, or what that would feel like, he began to think his way through the problem at hand.

He had minutes at best, moments at worst until the light shone out - killing everything within a ten mile radius, and starting with him. Although pulling the power cables seemed like the best bet for making sure the beacon never lit up … that was easier said than done. The previous beacon - the one from years ago - had been about the same height as him. It had been a stretch, but he could stand on the platform and pull the cables. This beacon however - was much bigger - about 15 feet - and he would have to climb the sides of it to reach the cables.

So maybe smashing it was more sensible. Only he had nothing to smash it with. He began to pat himself down, frantically, though he knew it was useless. He hadn't stashed a hammer in his pocket before he went out to get married that morning. Maybe if he wrapped his hand in his vest and just thumped at the glass until it broke? His hands flew to his waistcoat - and that was when he felt something hard and bumpy in the breast pocket.

He took it out. It was Cordelia's hair pin - the one that she had taken out because it was digging into her scalp, he had taken it from her. Even that seemed a lifetime ago now. He stared down at the bobby grip in his hand. He couldn't break anything with it … but he was a master petty criminal. He could open _anything_ with a hair pin. Including removing the screws from the control panel. He could get to the wires. He could change the flow of the magic - like he had done on the smaller beacon. That would save the humans and demons below … and destroy every member of The Scourge in a ten mile radius. And from the look of those trucks … every last member of the pure blood army was right here in this building. This - _this_ \- was what he was supposed to do all along, this was how he was supposed to save the day. His shameful, criminal past giving him the tools to be the hero he was destined to be. Lock-picking and hot-wiring would save the day. It was why everything had happened the way it had ...

Doyle's heart began to bang wildly against his rib cage. He stuck the pin between his teeth and then began to clamber - monkey like - up the inside of the metal casing, climbing up to the top of the beacon, where the control panel was.

Once there, he hooked his legs around one of the metal bars and leaned forward, so his top half was resting on the giant light. It thrummed and throbbed beneath him - but he made himself take some deep breaths, keep calm, and then took the grip from between his teeth and started to unscrew the panel.

The screws rolled away as he took them out, rolling off the edge and becoming deadly missiles as they fell nearly 500 feet to the ground. He ignored them. He was through to the wires. He ripped them all out - working out which was which. This was easier than the last time, not only because he had done it before, but because they were so much bigger - so much less fiddly. Feverishly, he pulled at the wires, swapping the ground and output voltage points - reversing the flow of the magic… he stuck his tongue out between his teeth as he concentrated. He was just nearly ...

There was a sudden yell - and then a soldier dove on him out of nowhere. They both crashed back down to the platform. Doyle landed flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him. The soldier must have been on the crane - must have been there to activate the beacon. It must have spotted him. And now he was away from the control panel and he didn't know if he had done enough - if he had finished the job. He heard the soldier get back to its feet - and instinctively he rolled and did the same, not wanting to be the last one up. He morphed back into his demon spikes and raised his fists - as the demon launched itself at him...

* * *

Angel walked along a dark chamber, following the instructions which had been relayed to him. At the end of the hallway was a doorway, engulfed in flames. He stopped outside of it - and braced himself. From the other side of the flames he could hear the sounds of a man being beaten; could hear his groans and the vicious sounds of clubs thumping against his body, again and again.

After a moment's waiting - Angel jumped through the fire, and landed in the dark room at the other side. Two hooded men were beating another. This man was on his knees, his arms tied behind him - a hood pulled over his head. The vampire pushed away his attackers, pulled the kneeling man to his feet and took the hood from his head. It was Drogyn - bruised and bloodied.

'Thank you … thank you ...' Drogyn moaned softly. Angel vamped out and bit him - drinking him for a few seconds and then dropping him, before taking hold of his head and snapping his neck. Then he let go - allowing Drogyn's dead body to fall to the floor.

* * *

The commander stepped up onto a small dais, so he was elevated above the whimpering, shoving crowd. 'Welcome,' his voice rang out across the hallway, and the place fell quiet. 'To a cleaner world. Today is a day of history! And you all have a front row seat to see it being made. Yours is an honour most high, to be cleansed of the stain that taints your blood - right here in the beginning. For too long, the plague of humanity has spread across the earth, has diluted our precious demon blood with its own weak, simpering mortality. But today it ends! Today our prophecies come true - today _a bright line shall shine upon the earth and cleanse the world of all who are unworthy. And The Scourge will rule the land. _And there are none left who can stop us.'

'Doyle will stop you.' Cordelia's voice cut right through the crowd. She was still restrained by two soldiers, her face was streaked with tears - but her voice was determined, masking her heart break. 'Doyle will save us all.'

'Ah - yes - The Promised One,' the commander sneered. 'It's a shame he cannot be here with us right now, but he has been given a ringside seat - he will not save you, slayer. He will be the first to die.'

'He might be,' her voice wobbled, but she took a deep breath and continued. 'But he will find a way to save us - even if he can't save himself.' She drew herself up, proudly, to her full height and held her head high. 'It's his destiny,' she said, and that same pride rang through her voice.

'He has _failed_ his destiny.'

'If you think that - then you don't know Doyle.'

'I know humans - and I know half breeds. And it is too late. The lighting of the beacon is but seconds away, and he has not saved you yet. He will not save you.'

'You don't know Doyle,' she repeated fiercely. And then the crowd screamed, as the power in the building was cut and the lights were killed - plunging them all into darkness. 'All the better to see the cleansing light with, my dear,' The commander said, smiling out into the gloom.

* * *

The soldier was bigger than him, and stronger - and their situation was so ridiculously precarious, so high up - and balanced on so narrow a platform. It charged at him. He waited until the very last moment and then dodged to the side. The soldier stumbled - as there was suddenly empty space right where it was supposed to collide with the solidity of Doyle. Doyle stuck his foot out. The soldier tripped, it slammed back down on the metal platform, sliding a few feet and tumbling over the edge. It's grasping fingers just managed to cling onto the very rim of the metal before it tumbled to its death. It dangled there, clinging on by its fingertips.

Feeling like a bastard, surprised he had it in him to do something so cold-hearted, Doyle edged his way over to the dangling soldier, and stamped down hard on its fingers. The soldier let go - and its scream died away as it fell so far down, Doyle couldn't hear it anymore. The Irishman took a couple of deep breaths. He'd killed a lot of demons in his time - that one was the first he had ever murdered in cold blood.

But he didn't have time for guilt. For behind him - the beacon began to light up - it's glow starting out soft and becoming brighter and brighter as it built its way up to being fully charged. And he didn't know if he'd done enough. The soldier had interrupted him before he had checked - he didn't know if the magic was reversed … or if this would still kill every man, woman, child and demon in the centre of the city.

He scrambled his way back up the metal casing. He would have to be the canary in the mine. If the light burned him - he would have to pull the cables, and hope Cordelia could prevent The Scourge from massacring everyone else. But he knew - from history - what would happen to him. How there would be nothing left.

His heart felt like lead as he climbed back up. Like a dead weight in his chest. He thought about Cordelia: her face, her smile, her laughter… he hadn't got to say goodbye. That would hurt her - he knew that, she would be angry with him and under that anger would be so much pain, so much grief… the last time they had seen each other, they had been pulled apart, screaming - their hands slipping from each other's grasp. That was no way for their fairy tale to end.

He hoped she would be all right, that one day she could be better, leave the grief behind and reclaim her smile. He knew she could hold her own against any evil that she came up against - but this … today ... This would hurt her in a way no vampire ever could. She had always bounced back from everything she ever faced: people trying to cut her head off, an invisible girl trying to cut her face off, multiple kidnaps, finding dead body after dead body - his Cordelia, nothing had ever fazed her. But this ...

He wished she was here with him, so he could say goodbye properly, one final kiss before… but here was his destiny. Part of him always knew he would end up here. Knew he hadn't escaped this - it was still out there, waiting for him.

He had been running from it for the past five years - now it had caught up with him. Destiny had a way of doing that. The past, she never let go - she always got you in the end, the universe had a way of making sure that you never forgot exactly who you were supposed to be. And he was supposed to be The Promised One. He was the hero of this hour - if not any other.

He reached the top of the beacon. The light was still growing in its intensity - the vibrations were enough to knock him over, if he wasn't carefully balanced. But he was - carefully balanced right where he could pull the power cables. Even if he hadn't reversed the magic, he could still stop the beacon detonating. Just like he was always supposed to. Just like last time. Though he doubted there was any higher power out there waiting to rewrite this moment in time. He closed his eyes, sending out his goodbyes to Cordelia, to Angel and to the universe - and just felt the light grow hotter…


	85. Power Play: Part Four

_Part Four_

A black robed, bronze masked demon raised its hand; a fiery symbol in the shape of a circle of thorns glowed orange against its skin - the only point of light in the darkened chamber. It pressed its hand against Angel's bared chest, right over his heart. The symbol seared into his skin for a moment and then faded away. 'The circle entwined,' the demon chanted.

'Embrace this worthy son,' the gathered group replied, watching.

'The thorn draws blood.'

'The thorn is the power,' the onlookers chanted back, 'and the power is absolute.'

The demon held out his hand to Angel, 'welcome to the fold.' They shook - and the lights came on. The onlookers removed their bronze masks, and Angel realised he recognised many of them. The ones he had already identified from the client files at Wolfram and Hart.

'Well done, Angel,' Cyvus Vail, the ancient and wizened red skinned sorcerer called out.

The demon who had led the ceremony removed his mask, revealing that it was Izzy all along. 'See? Didn't I tell you it was gonna happen? And what about that lamb we got you for the slaughter, hey? Any idea who that was?'

'Drogyn, the battle brand,' Angel said, buttoning up his shirt. Neither his face nor voice showed any sign that the man he had just killed had been someone he had long held an ally, was sorry to have to sacrifice to the cause.

'Damn straight!' Izzy took a champagne flute from a passing waiter and handed another to Angel. 'We got you some supercharged warrior juice, not some schmuck. You must feel great.' They clinked the glasses in cheers and drank. 'OK - let me introduce you around to a few people. Some of these folks you know, some you don't. Of course, you're acquainted with the Archduke.' He led Angel over to where Sebassis, the underworld royalty Angel had met at the disastrous Halloween party, was standing.

Sebassis raised his glass to the vampire. 'Kudos, child. I must say it's gratifying to see you've returned to form, Angelus.'

'It's still Angel.'

The Archduke looked awkward for a moment and then managed to cover. 'Ah, well. What's in a name, eh? In the spirit of our new alliance, you must allow me to throw a dinner party in your honour.'

Angel smiled graciously, 'you know how I love parties.' He saluted Sebassis with his glass and then took a sip of the champagne.

'It's nice to see you again so soon, Angel,' a female voice said from behind him. He turned to look and found Senator Brucker standing there, clad in the dark robes of the order and smiling in welcome.

'Senator,' he said - sounding surprised to see her there, 'I had no idea you were so well … connected.'

She laughed knowingly, 'well, I'm not gonna take the White House in 2008 on just my sparkling wit and funding from hostile governments.' She took a sip of her champagne, as Angel chuckled at her words. 'I expect not,' he told her, his smile wide and charming.

Izzy came up beside Angel, then and made his excuses to Senator Brucker. 'Excuse us, Helen. Angel, I've got someone here who'd like to pay his respects…' he took Angel by the elbow and led him over to where Cyvus was standing, still hooked up to an IV drip.

'Vail,' Angel said, reaching out to shake hands with the elderly sorcerer.

'Ah, Angel - I can't tell you how delighted I am to see you here at last. I've been putting in good words for you ever since you sorted my little problem for me.'

'Well - I gotta thank you for that, but I was glad to be of service. I trust things are moving along at a satisfactory pace in your torture chamber?'

Vail's expression darkened, 'the cur managed to escape. No one saw a thing. He must have used magicks …' he wheezed, 'these are the risks when you detain a sorcerer against his will.'

Angel kept his face impassive. 'I'm very sorry to hear that. You should have got in touch, we would have hunted him down for you again.'

'You are a good and loyal boy, I feel you will be a great asset to our little circle … killing The Immortal that was … a bold act, a very bold act indeed.'

'Truth be told, he'd been a pain in my ass since the nineteenth century. I was happy to do it,' Angel told him. He smirked and took a sip of his champagne, 'but I'm glad it finally got me noticed. I've wanted to be here for a long, long time.' He glanced around the chamber, absorbing it all, taking in all the faces of his dark robed new brethren.

'We got a great turn out for your initiation,' Izzy said, noticing him looking.

'Really?'

'Oh yeah, everybody's here. Here,' he took the champagne flute from Angel's hand, 'let me freshen that up for you.' He walked off to get a new glass.

Angel looked around himself again. So this was everybody. He took a long look at their faces, committing them to memory.

* * *

Still held firmly in place between two members of The Scourge, Cordelia stared upwards at the ceiling, her eyes boring into it - willing it away, wishing that it would dissolve and she could get a clear view of the roof, and what was happening up there. What Doyle was doing up there. Whether he was still alive, whether they still had moments left to share on earth - even if they weren't together, or if she had already lost him.

No. That couldn't be. Not yet. Not already. She couldn't have lost him yet. She would know, surely? If Doyle were dead, she would feel it - in her heart, in every inch of her, she would know he was gone, every fibre of her being would reverberate with her loss.

Her upturned face was streaked with tears she couldn't brush away, because The Scourge still held her so tightly. But she barely noticed them, as they trickled down her cheeks, tickling her skin - she was too intent on the ceiling, on what was happening beyond it. On what was going down on the roof.

The building was still in darkness, and all the demons and humans trapped in there were whimpering and moaning in fright. There was a terrified and stifling air of expectation, of horrified anticipation, as hundreds of people waited for their imminent death - and knew there was nothing to be done. And it was made all the worse for having to wait in the pitch dark.

And then - the light started to shine. Dim at first, barely breaking through the gloom - but then brighter and brighter, and hotter and hotter - more intense with every passing second. The whimpers from the crowd became louder, more distressed - there was pushing and shoving, as people made futile attempts to escape its encroaching rays. But they were trapped in a confined space - and it would shine for ten miles in every direction - there was no dark place of safety left for any of them to hide in.

A sob built up inside Cordelia's chest, she felt it like a physical lump growing harder and tighter and restricting her throat. As the light grew so bright she had to turn her face away, she could contain it no longer - and the cry escaped from her, mingling with those of her fellow prisoners. Her breathing was ragged, and the tears were flowing faster and freer. The light grew brighter and she screwed her eyes up against it, wanting it gone but knowing once it was - Doyle would be gone too. He would have pulled the cables, like he was always supposed to do, like he did that first time - when she lost him before she really knew him - and she would have lost him again. Only this time she had so much more to lose. She had never feared the return of darkness as much as she did right now.

Her eyes were closed, she was biting her lip to try and stop herself from sobbing uncontrollably. She couldn't lose control. When the light went out - when Doyle was dead - it would be up to her to get all these people to safety. She would have to fight The Scourge alone. She had to keep it together for the sake of everyone trapped there with her. It was what Doyle would expect of her, so she would do it - no matter how much it hurt. She held herself still, feeling time slow down as she worked on keeping control - and it felt, crowded in as she was, that she was all alone in there; just her, her grief, and the need to keep taking deep, calming breaths.

And then the screaming started. The light was at a pure, brilliant intensity now - hot and scorching, streaming through the windows and reaching every corner of the building - and far beyond. And the screaming was like no other sound on earth. Agonised and pain -filled and terrified all at once.

Cordelia felt everything freeze inside of her, her heart stopped beating - her blood running to a stop in her veins, she wasn't breathing at all anymore … and all she could imagine was, if those were the screams of the people down here, how much pain must Doyle be in up there? How much worse must the agony be so close to the light? Everything unfroze, and she began to sob again - as she thought of his last moments being so painful. And all alone. He was so brave, to face this, to risk everything, to die in agony for everyone else … her husband, her Doyle. How could she manage to be brave without him?

She couldn't forget, though she wished she could, what had happened to those soldiers last week. The way their skin had burned away leaving nothing but muscle underneath, and then even that bubbled and melted and there was nothing but ash - a hollow blank where their faces should be … and then nothing at all. She couldn't bear the thought of that happening to her Doyle, to the face she loved so much, to the hands she had meant to hold onto through her whole life. Burned, disfigured and then nothing. Nothing at all left. Gone.

She barely registered her captors letting go of her, suddenly being freed - she was so trapped in her own world of saying her goodbyes, of trying not to die from the heartbreak, that nothing else was breaking through … but eventually she felt the lightness that came with being loose of their grip, and then became aware of them trembling beside her. She turned to look - not understanding … and that was when she realised where the screaming was coming from.

She should have realised. The light was so bright, it bathed her completely in its glow and had done for several long moments already… if it was deadly to her, she would be dead by now. But it wasn't harming her at all. It was harming the soldiers. The screaming - the agonised death yells - were coming from The Scourge … not from the demons and the humans.

Looking around, Cordelia saw not only her own two captors shaking and trembling as their skin melted away to the muscle and the muscle melted away to the bone - but all the soldiers she could see up there on the same floor as her, melting just the same. Even the commander, still on the dais, had fallen to his knees, his hands were raised up to his eyes and he was staring at them in horror - shrieking in agony as they melted away, cleansed by the light.

Her breath stilled and her sobs got caught in her throat, once again, as she stared around, and dared to work out what this meant. If the light wasn't hurting her, wasn't hurting the demons, was hurting The Scourge … then it wouldn't be hurting Doyle either. It would be shining on him as harmlessly as it shone on her, he was protected by his human half - his human blood.

He must have … a laugh broke out from her, wild and disbelieving - he must have rewired the beacon, changed the command so that the light killed anything without a drop of human blood. Like he had done with the tiny beacon last week, but now on a massive scale that would save the city, save the world. She was half gasping for breath, half laughing now - but it was still a laugh of utter shock. All those times she had told him he had been given the exact right skills to make him The Promised One - and today his history of petty criminality, his ability to understand circuits, quickly strip back insulation and mess with the wiring would save the world. Only Doyle…

The very last remnants of the soldiers dissolved in the light, their bones crumbling and even the dust melting to nothingness. Every last one of them was gone - from this floor - and from every floor below and any that were still outside when the beacon detonated. Every last member of the pure blood army had been destroyed by their own prophesied, cleansing light. The terrible screams died out - echoing around the hallways for a moment or two - and then going silent. Then a startled hush reigned over the building, as everybody blinked in the bright, hot light looking surprised - not understanding at all what had just happened.

The light didn't die - it stayed at full strength whilst the seconds lengthened and the people looked at each other confused, wondering if they were safe. The seconds became minutes - and Cordelia began to worry again. Why wasn't he pulling the cables? Perhaps something had happened to him after all - maybe he had saved them but it was still too late…

And then people jumped and let out little yelps as, once more, they were plunged into darkness - and Cordelia felt all her blood rush into her face and extremities, make them tingle, and grow hot with relief. That must have been him. It must have been. Only someone up with the beacon could switch it off, and he was the only one up there. That must have been him.

Far above them. There was the sound of breaking glass - and she knew that _must _be him, because no one else could smash the beacons, no one else could get through the magic enchantments except for her husband - The Promised One. She felt the pride begin to swell in her chest.

But she still didn't relax. She couldn't relax until she saw him again. Until she could see him, touch him, wrap her arms around him and really know that he was OK. That he had survived his destiny. That all this was behind them now, and they were still together and had the rest of their lives to live as they chose - with no more prophecies and destinies hanging over them, holding them back … she couldn't bring herself to believe, couldn't dare to believe it was true until she was holding him again. Because she could not bear the grief if she was wrong.

He still had to get down from the roof. Even if he had really survived, he was still up there - alone - way too high. She could breathe again once she saw him, but not a moment before.

In the darkness, the demons began to mutter amongst themselves, wondering what had just happened - what had just saved them. And then, from the other end of the hallway, Cordelia heard the suggestion, 'was it The Promised One?'

The phrase was taken up by the crowd, then, and repeated over and over, 'The Promised One?'

'He saved us?'

'Like in the prophecy? It was real?'

'The Promised One.'

'It was The Promised One.'

'The Promised One.'

The crowd cried out again, as the power was suddenly restored to the building and the lights - the normal lights - flickered back on. They blinked in the fluorescence, still just standing there - bemused, until suddenly there was movement by the entrance to the stairwell. The demons closest to the exits suddenly dropped to one knee and the susurration of 'The Promised One' was taken up again.

Cordelia turned to look, everywhere the words went, the crowd dropped to its knees leaving her view clearer and clearer and then … there he was! Looking a little bemused and more than a little embarrassed by the reverence the demon clans were showing him. His hair was fluffy and stuck on end and his skin was looking a little bit singed from the heat of the beacon, his knuckles were bleeding from punching through the glass … but it was him, and he was whole, and alive, and OK.

Soon, everyone was kneeling on the floor, their heads bowed - and Doyle looked her way and saw her just standing there, looking shell shocked. He smiled at her and held his arms out and - with a cry - she ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. He felt so wonderfully solid and real.

He caught hold of her and swung her up into the air, spinning them both round and, once she was back on her feet, he kissed her - and for once she had to go up on her tiptoes, because she was barefoot and he still had on those ridiculous built up shoes she'd made him wear for the wedding.

Behind them, the demon crowds had got back to their feet and were cheering them wildly. The humans were looking more bemused than ever, as great, scaly monsters burst into tears and hugged each other and kept on cheering this one kissing, young couple.

Cordelia barely paid any of it any attention. The tears were running fast and furious from her eyes, now, but her smile was even wider than it had been at the ceremony that morning. She kept her arms around Doyle, not ever wanting to let go. 'You're alive!' she said - stating the obvious, as if saying it would confirm it, make it more true.

'And you're not happy?' he smiled down at her, kissing away some of her tears.

'I thought I'd lost you.'

'Well, it's all gonna be OK.'

'Don't you _dare_ ever do that to me again,' she threatened, still hugging him furiously.

'I won't…' he frowned. 'Cordy, what happened to your dress?'

She looked down, not understanding, and then saw her bare feet and legs and the rough edges of her dress - now somewhere near her knees - where she had hacked away at it with the scissors. 'Oh, I tried climbing out of a window to rescue you - I had to cut it so it wouldn't trip me up.'

'Of course you climbed out of a window!' He shook his head in fond disbelief at her recklessness. 'You shouldn't have ruined your pretty dress just for me!... You don't have any shoes.'

'Yeah - I lost 'em.'

He kissed her and grinned, and changed the way his arms were wrapped around her, 'well, you can't walk home barefoot … I guess I'll just have to carry my bride all the way home.' She squealed as he lifted her into his arms and the crowd cheered them again, as he made his way towards the staircase.

'Doyle!' she cried out to him over the noise of the cheering, wrapping both of her arms around his neck to support herself as he held her. 'We're, like, 32 floors up!'

'Oh….' he came to a stop. 'Uh - I guess we'll just take the elevator then. Good job I switched the power back on, huh?'

She giggled and nuzzled against him as he turned around and headed for the elevators. The crowd separated respectfully, parting like the Red Sea, to let The Promised One through. He pressed the call button and then got in the lift when it came, still holding Cordelia. As the doors slid shut, the demons gave them three cheers - whilst they laughed and waved like they were Royalty meeting their adoring masses, or like it was Disneyland and they were Mickey and Minnie Mouse in the parade - and then they were left alone, travelling downward - kissing the whole length of the journey to the ground floor.

* * *

The elevator bell dinged, and Angel stepped out into the Wolfram and Hart lobby, just as the first of the early morning sun came shining through the necro tempered glass windows. He frowned, rubbing the spot above his heart where the flaming mark of the circle had been branded on his skin. It was still sore - even all these hours later.

As soon as he had finished up at his initiation he had rushed straight over to Doyle and Cordy's office - his old office, where everything had once been so simple. It had taken all his reserve to hold back and smile through the party in his honour, worrying the whole time about what was happening to his oldest and dearest friends. As soon as it was over, he had rushed to find out they were OK.

He hadn't seen them. But the moment he had stepped foot inside their office he had known they were both there, down in the apartment. Even from that distance he could sense their hearts beating - in perfect rhythm with each other. They were both there, they were both alive. And - from the way the bergamot scent of Cordelia's perfume crashed into the Tide washing powder and petrichor of Doyle, he could tell how closely they were wrapped around each other. He could even smell the salt of the sweat on their skin. Well - it was their wedding night after all… he had just backed out, awkwardly, knowing they would not appreciate an undead audience, no matter how respectful the distance he kept was. But he was relieved to know that - whatever had happened with this demon army, in this war zone, tonight - they had both survived. They were together and they were all right and not much else mattered. There was nothing he could do for them.

So now he had returned to work - the relief he had felt for Cordy and Doyle turning back into the heavy weight this place always cast over him. It was coming to an end - and that would be a relief - but there was still miles to go before he could sleep. And all of it hard and uphill.

He crossed the lobby and headed straight for his office, not closing the door behind him, thinking he would enjoy the sunshine through the glass - whilst he still could - before he went to spend time with Connor - whilst he still could.

But then he heard the creak of the door, as it seemed to close itself, and turned back to look. Gunn had been standing behind it - he held a sword, pointed directly at Angel. And then Spike was there too, blindsiding him, getting in a lucky punch that knocked him to the ground. The door to the conference room opened and Wesley, Lorne and Fred all came in, each one of them armed. 'You might wanna stay down,' Spike said to him.

'Or what? Careful…' he looked at his friends' weapons as he got back to his feet, 'you don't wanna get yourselves hurt.'

'We know what you've been doing,' Gunn said to him. His voice was hard and accusatory, he was glowering and he kept Angel covered with the sword the whole time. It reminded Angel of the way the street fighter had been when they had first met, before Alonna had died … when Gunn was not yet ready to trust someone, and certainly not anybody with fangs. They had come such a long way in the intervening years - and yet underneath it all, Gunn was still the same boy he had always been: Proud, fierce, always looking out for his own - and always quick to distrust. 'Handing that guy over to Vail, giving up the baby to the Fell Brethren, working for Senator Bitch, trying to take out Drogyn to cover up what you did to Fred? And for what? To get into the Circle of the Black Thorn?'

'So, you finally figured it out,' Angel replied, keeping his voice impassive and distinctly unimpressed.

'Yeah, we went to speak to our lawyer,' Lorne told him, 'you know you're not the only golden boy Wolfram and Hart ever had.'

'Lindsey,' he already knew that was true - Lindsey, himself, had rung him to tell him so. Angel had been counting on them taking this step for some time. 'And you believe him?'

'Doesn't have a reason to lie,' Spike said.

'Doesn't need one.'

'Unlike you?' Wesley asked him. He was holding his trusty shotgun, pointing the barrels at his boss.

'What I do here is my business. You don't like how I conduct it, you can leave …before I kill you.'

'Kill us?' Wesley raised an eyebrow, but kept the gun trained dead on the vampire. 'Hard to believe we're having trouble trusting you.'

'Just telling it like it is.'

Wesley cocked the gun, 'then we have a problem.'

'I guess we do.' He grabbed the end of the shotgun and yanked it out of Wesley's hands, whilst kicking him away. Spike charged at him, fists raised, but Angel got a hit in first. Gunn raised his sword but Angel blocked the swing and then hit the other man in the head with the barrel of the gun. Fred, clutching her own sword, let out a little yelp - her eyes were wide and she seemed reluctant to join the fray. Lorne aimed his crossbow and fired. The shot went wide, and the bolt buried into Angel's shoulder making the vampire drop the shotgun.

Wesley took a pistol from his belt then and aimed it at Angel, but Angel kicked it straight out of his hand before he could fire. Then, he grabbed Lorne round the neck and twisted him round, holding him tightly - keeping him hostage. 'Are we done?'

'Let him go,' Wesley demanded.

But Angel just squeezed Lorne's throat tighter. 'You don't give the orders here, Wes. Lorne, take this thing out of me,' he gestured to the crossbow bolt, '...easy, not in a great mood.'

Gingerly, Lorne reached round and pulled the bolt out of Angel's shoulder. Angel nodded. 'Good, now let's finish this.' He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a crystal, which he held up. '_Involvere,_' he intoned. The crystal glowed and discharged a blast of light throughout the room , which the others felt as a shock wave breaking over them. He let go of Lorne and pocketed the crystal. 'All right, we have six minutes.'

'Until what?' Spike asked, still sounding sullen.

'Until the glamour collapses. As far as anyone outside this room is concerned we're still at each other's throats.'

'Aren't we?' Wesley's voice was deeply sardonic.

'Look we don't have a lot of time here, so I'm gonna have to make this short. Everything you think you know, everything you've heard, is a lie.'

'Why should we believe you?' Gunn's face still showed his deep mistrust.

'Because I'm the one that told it.' He looked straight at Wesley, 'read any good books lately?'

'You sent us the message?'

Angel nodded, 'and the assassin to kill Drogyn.'

'So … that part was true,' Spike said slowly.

'I knew Drogyn could take care of himself,' Angel said, impatiently. 'I told the assassin just enough to lead Drogyn to believe I played a part in resurrecting Illyria. I figured he'd come here looking for allies against me.'

'Why did you want us to believe you tried to kill me?' Fred asked, her voice wobbled a little bit as she spoke.

'Because I needed _them_ to believe it.'

'The Black Thorn,' Gunn realised.

Angel nodded again. 'They needed to believe my own people didn't trust me anymore. They needed to believe a person as good and as pure as Drogyn considered me an enemy. It was the only way I could gain their confidence.'

Lorne rubbed his sore neck, he wasn't looking 100% convinced. 'So this whole evil Angel thing has been a big scamola. Hmm - I smell Oscar.'

'When did all this start?' Spike asked.

'A few months ago - Doyle had a vision,' Angel said. 'One that was meant for me - rather than Cordy. He saw … flashes, bits and pieces but nothing concrete. He just had this overwhelming feeling that the PTB were sending the message to me, telling me where the real power in all this lies. But I couldn't see who they were. And then - when Fred nearly died, when we thought she was lost to Illyria, I decided I wasn't gonna let it be just another random, horrible event in a random, horrible world. So I decided to use it - to make her death matter.' He looked at Fred, then, directly - meeting her big, brown eyes with his own. 'When I thought we'd lost you - I wasn't willing to let that be meaningless. But when you survived ... you have to believe me how happy I am that you survived. It means the world - but I still needed you, and The Circle, to believe it wasn't what I wanted.' He looked around at all of them, then, 'and it worked! I'm in. I've seen the faces of evil. I know who the real powers in the apocalypse are.'

Gunn wrinkled his brow, 'so all that power tilts the scales crap…?'

'Is true,' Angel told him. 'We're in a machine. That machine's gonna be here long after our bodies are dust. But The Senior Partners will always exist in one form or another because mankind is weak.'

Lorne looked nervously at the rest of his friends, 'uh - do you want me to point my crossbow at him, 'cause I think he's gonna start talking about ants again.'

'We are weak,' Angel said. 'The powerful control everything… except our will to choose. Look, Lindsey might be the halfwit who spent the past year trying to kill me for something I didn't even do - but he was right about one thing. Heroes don't accept the way the world is. The Senior Partners may be eternal, but we can make their existence painful.'

'You wanna take them on,' Wesley realised.

'We're in a machine. The Black Thorn runs it. We can bring their gears to a grinding halt - even if it's just for a moment.' He looked around at them all then, needing them to understand this next part. 'This isn't a keep fightin' the good fight kind of deal. Let's be clear. I'm talking about killing every … single … member of The Black Thorn. We don't walk away from that.'

'Do we crawl away at least?' Lorne asked hopefully. Angel shook his head.

'What about Doyle and Cordy?' Fred asked, 'they should be here with us, are ya bringing them in on this?'

But Angel shook his head, thinking of them wrapped up in each other down in their apartment - blissfully happy and with their whole lives ahead of them. They had too much to live for, too much to lose to be a part of this. 'This isn't their fight,' he told his friends. 'This one's on us - they stay out of it.'

'But Cordy's a slayer - we could use…'

'Cordelia did not choose to join Wolfram and Hart,' Angel interrupted her, 'Doyle neither. They looked at the shiny baubles Lilah dangled in front of us, the promises, the power, the wealth - they refused it all. They didn't come here. They don't die bringing it down. And that's the end of it.'

Wesley was frowning, 'what about Connor? If we do this - his life will be forfeit. The Senior Partners will take their revenge.'

'I got a plan for Connor. I know how we can keep him safe. Make sure they never find him.' A flash of pain crossed his face, 'it means I'll never see him again - can't be near him again. Because if we do this, The Senior Partners will rain their full wrath upon us. Now - that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. To be free of this place, to free Connor of this place - to show those sons of bitches they don't own my soul and they never could. But I need you to understand - they will make an example of us. I'm talking full on hell. Not the basic fire and brimstone we're used to. Ten to one - we're gone when the smoke clears. They will do everything in their power to destroy us.'

He paused for a moment, letting all that sink in - and looked around at his friends, his family - the only people in the world he could ask to die beside him. 'So … I need you to be sure. Power endures. We can't bring down The Senior Partners, but for one bright, _shining_ moment we can show them that they don't own us. You need to decide for yourself if that's worth dying for. I can't order you to do this. I can't do it without you. So we'll vote - as a team. Think about what I'm asking you to do, think about what I'm asking you to give.'

They were all quiet, their faces serious as they digested his words, considered his proposal and realised the weight he had been carrying all these months, the planning he had put into getting this moment … and what came next. 'Kill 'em all…' Spike said thoughtfully. 'Burn the house down while we're still in it.'

'Something like that.'

'Huh …' the other vampire raised his hand. 'I'm in.'

Wesley had started to smile. It all made sense - and Angel hadn't turned to the dark side, and now here was a chance for one shining moment of redemption - for any of them that might need it. A chance to pay back any trusts that had been broken and repair their bruised souls with sacrifice. 'I'm in,' he raised his hand. Slowly Gunn, and then Lorne and then Fred followed suit … they were all in, would all go out in one giant blaze of glory - as a team, as a family.

...

Outside the office, the glamour still held. Watched through the internal windows, Angel still had Lorne gripped by the throat, whilst the others circled with their weapons raised - unable to attack for fear of hurting Lorne. 'Drop it!' Spike yelled, his fists raised.

'Angel, you don't want to do this,' Wesley shouted.

'You're not the boss around here!'

'Lorne, you alright?' Gunn still had his sword, but couldn't use it. It was pointed at Angel, but Lorne was in the way.

'Help!'

'Angel there's four of us here,' Spike barked, 'drop it!'

Lilah walked into the lobby - catching the end of the show through the windows. She smirked to herself. Hmmm. This was... interesting.

* * *

**A/N - so here we are, next episode is the series finale. S05 E22 'Not Fade Away' - posting on Friday.**


	86. Not Fade Away: Part One

**Not Fade Away**

_Part One_

Angel looked around the circle of his friends, each with their hands raised - each with an identical serious expression on their face. They understood the enormity of what they were agreeing to. They were volunteering to die. He nodded, he needed them to get that - could not lead them into a battle based on false promises, could not let them think there was any light at the end of this tunnel. But he was satisfied they understood. 'Then we're agreed,' he said.

'Yeah, we're all one, big, happy, Manson family,' Spike lowered his hand. The others did likewise. 'We taking 'em all at once?' Gunn asked.

But Angel shook his head - there was no way they could do that. The Circle of the Black Thorn were the most powerful group on this plane of existence. If the team tried to take them all on at once, they'd be vaporised. But separately? … They were just demons.

Wesley picked his shotgun up from where it had been tossed aside in the fight, and slung it over his shoulder. 'When do we make our move?' he asked, taking steps towards Angel. Angel handed him his pistol back. 'Soon. In the meantime we need to keep up the infighting. The Circle need to believe we're coming apart at the seams.'

'You think maybe Drogyn will be up for this?' Gunn asked, 'as he's in town, deathless warrior like that … wouldn't hurt to have him come down on our side.'

'He's injured,' Wesley shook his head.

Gunn shrugged, 'he'll heal.'

'He's dead,' Angel said. They all turned to stare at him. 'And how do you know that, Kreskin?' Spike asked angrily, marching towards him.

'Because I killed him.'

'_What?'_

Angel's fist suddenly whipped out, punching Sike in the face. Spike looked even more furious and swung a punch of his own, but he missed and Angel grabbed him by the throat - just as the door opened and Lilah walked in, smirking.

'I'm sorry,' she said, though she didn't sound sorry at all, 'I didn't know you were … in conference.'

'I was just making a closing statement,' Angel replied, pushing Spike away from himself, his expression was hard and angry again - the mask he had been wearing for weeks now slid seamlessly back into place now the family were no longer alone. 'Unless somebody didn't hear me?'

Looking mutinous and sullen, the team filed out of the door - and Angel slammed it behind them, before turning back to Lilah, smiling pleasantly now the others were gone. 'Was there something you wanted?'

She smirked again, delighted to see the team falling apart this way. She could feel the mistrust laying heavy on the air. It was delicious - and far better suited to this place than the warm fuzzies the whitehats usually gave out. Angel was really coming around. 'I just wanted to check there was nothing _you_ needed,' she said to him. Really, she had just wanted to get into the office and see for herself what the fighting was about.

'I'm fine - but I got a lot to do this morning,' his eyes slid towards the door - she took the hint. 'Well, you know where to find me if you need me,' she said - and followed the others out, leaving him alone.

He began to head for the private elevator which led up to his penthouse. He needed to see Connor, to hold him whilst he still could … but he was interrupted by the phone on his desk beginning to ring.

Sighing deeply, he crossed the room and answered it, 'Angel … Izzy…' he listened to what the red skinned demon had to say. 'Already?' He sighed again. 'Well - I'll be there. Yeah - an hour. Bye.' He put the phone down and sighed a final time. The Circle wanted to speak to him - already. No rest for the wicked.

* * *

'What are you thinking about?' Doyle stroked his fingers through Cordelia's hair, pushing it away from her face and kissing her. Although the sun would now be quite high in the sky, they still hadn't made it out of bed yet. Yesterday had been a long day - a very long day - and then a very late night, both with more than their fair share of excitement. The pair of them were happily exhausted and simply enjoying their first morning together as a married couple, curled up close under the covers.

'I'm thinking about where we should go on our honeymoon,' she murmured.

'Yeah? What's the plan?' he kissed her again, 'Paris? New York? Somewhere with deserted white sand beaches?' He punctuated each suggestion with a further kiss.

'Pylea,' she told him, her voice determined - she had made up her mind.

He pulled back in surprise, raising an eyebrow, 'um - not what I was expectin' for an answer there, is there any particular reason you wanna visit a demon dimension for our honeymoon, Princess?'

'Queen,' she said.

'What?' he looked puzzled.

'Not princess - _queen_,' she corrected him. He started to realise where she was going with this, and started to chuckle. 'I'm serious!' she protested, 'You're the King of Pylea - and now I'm your lawfully wedded wife. It was all very good being a concubine and all - but now I'm the fricking queen of a dimension and I want a tiara. And a throne… and maybe a bit of light worship thrown in for good measure.'

He wrapped his arms around her and laughed harder, kissing her again. 'For all you've grown up over the years, you never really change, you know that, princess? I mean - _my queen_.'

'Duh - I'm way too awesome to change. You know, back in high school, my car - before the IRS took it away - had Queen C license plates?'

'I didn't know that,' he was still planting kisses all over her face and neck, his fingers were twisted up in her hair.

'Uhuh - and now - as of yesterday - I really am Queen Cordelia, and I wanna get my money's worth. Groo would be happy to see us.'

'I'm sure he would.'

'We could stay in the palace, I could wear my crown, you could wear your crown … and those tight little pantyhose they had you wear last time - I miss those.'

'They weren't _pantyhose!_' he sounded mock outraged. 'They were just … hose.'

'Well they were tight and revealing and I liked them.'

'Yeah? Would you wear the gold bikini again?'

'Only if it went with my crown.'

'Then I'd make sure to choose you a crown that matched…' he rolled so he was lying on top of her. His fingers disentangled from her hair and started to wander lower, and his kisses followed after them. She arched underneath him, guiding his hands and his lips to where she wanted them, moaning in pleasure - until she suddenly yelped in alarm and pushed him off her.

'What? What is it?' he landed back on his side of the bed with a thud and looked at her, puzzled. She was staring back at him - her eyes were wide and fearful. 'What's happening to you?' she asked.

'What?' he felt a sudden jolt in his stomach. The way she looked at him … it reminded him too much of the way Harri had looked at him that first terrible morning, nine long years ago. 'What is it?'

'Look!' she grabbed his hand and held it up to where he could see. He didn't know what he had expected, maybe for it to be green - that was his only other face - though it wouldn't explain why Cordelia would be looking at him like she was afraid. But it wasn't green. It was glowing. A pure and brilliant white light emanated from his hands and shone out into the apartment.

'It's all over,' Cordy said to him, 'all of you is like tha -' she suddenly froze, sat in the bed, the covers clutched around her - unmoving.

'Cordy?' his voice trembled, she didn't answer. She just sat - with her mouth open half way through her words, as still and lifeless as if she was made of marble. He grabbed hold of her, 'Cordy!' Nothing.

He tumbled from the bed, the glow from him was getting brighter and brighter, he looked around. The clock was frozen as well, the second hand no longer ticking round. There was a drip of water suspended in mid air, where it had just fallen from the faucet in the kitchen. Gravity was no longer working on it, as time stood still, for everything except Doyle.

The light was so intense now, blinding, brighter even than the beacon, and he could feel its warm beneath his skin. 'What's happening to me?' he cried out - though there was no one there who could answer him.

And then the air above his head ripped open and an identical blinding white light shone through … it was like a portal, though brighter than any he had seen before, and without the shrieking distortion that usually came when a window between worlds opened. He stared up at it and - for one crystal clear moment - he had the realisation that it wasn't a window between worlds, it was a window between planes … and then he was sucked up inside of it, and the air sealed itself shut behind him.

Down in the apartment, now the light was gone, everything came back to life.

'-t.' Cordelia finished her sentence - and then stared at the empty space in the bed, where her husband had just vanished, right in front of her eyes. She screamed.

* * *

The team returned to Spike's apartment. Sure enough there was no sign of Drogyn, but there were signs of a struggle. The door had been kicked in, some furniture smashed. 'Son of a bitch!' Spike said glumly.

'I guess it's fair to say whoever broke and entered here must have been powerful,' Wesley said, surveying the damage, 'to be able to overcome Drogyn - to take him away…'

'Right to Angel.' Lorne looked around at his friends. 'I'm telling you, our fearless leader has fearlessly lost it. There's no part of this that makes any sense, we could be next.'

'I don't think we're being monitored here,' Gunn told him.

But Lorne shook his head. He wasn't playing to the crowd. He just didn't trust Angel anymore.

'We don't have to trust him,' Gunn said, looking around at all his friends, 'we just gotta pray the Black Circle does.'

* * *

Angel sat in the secret meeting chamber of the Black Thorn. They were gathered around a table, he sat at one end, Sebassis was at the other. All the members had their heads bowed, chanting in unison, whilst Angel watched them, his eyebrow raised sceptically at the rites and rituals.

'...Of the world's woe, now convene. All is bound by the circle and its thorns. Invisible, inviolate, we the seeds of the storm, at the centre of the world's woe, now convene.'

When the chanting came to an end, the meeting was opened, Sebassis took a glass of the blue fluid he always drank, the blood he tapped straight from his slave's veins, and took a sip. 'The circle does not abide secrets,' he said to Angel.

Down the other end of the table, Angel smirked. 'Which is interesting for a secret society.'

'Remember your place, vampire,' the Archduke's voice held a stern reprimand. He clapped his hands, summoning something to be brought to him.

'My place is in the circle,' Angel told him. His right hand played - seemingly unconsciously - with a ring he wore on his left, twisting it on his finger until it faced inward.

'This morning's insurrection did not go unnoticed. '

'You mean my people.'

'They tried to kill you. An embarrassing affront to say the least.'

Sat beside Angel, Vail began to wheeze. 'And the stepping stone to disaster. You have ascended, Angel. You should not be burdened with this kind of -' he began to gasp and choke, clutching at his throat and wheezing. The tiny slave of Sebassis, wearing a blindfold, had stumbled over Vail's tubes, knocking his IV out. 'Sebassis!' the sorcerer rasped out, 'your man servant has become entangled in my bodily fluids again.'

Angel reached out, pressed the flat of his left hand against the chest of the slave and pushed him away. The slave cried out in pain as it fell backwards.

'My people are the problem?' Angel asked, ignoring the slave demon and folding his hands together on the table, unconsciously twisting the ring back into the correct position.

'Some of them,' Sebassis informed him.

'Some? who didn't make the cut?'

Cyvus Vail wheezed again. 'We're interested in Mr. Wyndam Price. He seems intriguingly unstable.'

'Mr, Gunn, however, does not,' Senator Brucker chimed in. She knew a lost cause when she saw one, and the young man had proved his moral compass still pointed true north just the day before - which was a shame, because he had had such great potential.

'He is not, however, our greatest concern,' Sebassis said.

Angel smiled wryly. 'If the next words out of your mouth are "kill Spike" … we may just have to kiss.'

'Spike is not the threat!' The Archduke sounded angry, annoyed by Angel's flippant tones, 'you are! You've proven your loyalty to the circle. Regrettably there is something more powerful than loyalty … hope.'

He signalled to Izzy, and the red skinned demon brought out a cylindrical tube - he opened it up and brought out a document, an ancient and yellowing piece of parchment, and unrolled it out on the table in front of Angel.

Angel looked down at it, recognising it at once, 'this is the Shanshu prophecy.'

'The original,' Sebassis nodded. Angel looked at it again, as Senator Brucker recited the contents of the scroll. 'The vampire with a soul will play a pivotal role in the apocalypse - and as a result will become human.'

'A paranoid person might think you were attempting to manipulate us in order to fulfil this prophecy,' Sebassis said, taking another sip of the blue blood in his wine glass.

'I have no wish to become human.'

'Oh good - then you won't mind signing that pesky future away. Through that document, the prophecy can be undone. Your signature there will remove any opportunity that you will ever earn your once-precious humanity. Will you sign it?'

He didn't even hesitate. 'Of course.' he reached out for the pen that Izzy was holding, but instead of passing it across, the red skinned demon drove it hard into Angel's hand - puncturing right the way through his skin. 'It's got to be signed in blood,' the demon leered.

Angel nodded and took the now blood tipped pen from him without saying anything. He looked down at the document - remembering the time he had first become aware of it, in the Wolfram and Hart basement, at the same time Doyle had found and smashed the beacon. Doyle fulfilled his destiny in that room and Angel had left the prophecy behind, feeling he was abandoning his own path, his own fate, just as Doyle completed his. He remembered that day - four years ago - sitting with his original team, so many of his family not yet found, and Wesley translating the word 'Shanshu'. The horror of the others when they heard Angel was to die, and his own detachment - because there was nothing he wanted in life, nothing to hope for.

And then Wesley discovered his mistake, and he remembered all too clearly the look of awe on their faces when they were told that in order to die, Angel would first be made human. This was his reward. The Shanshu. That had made him smile - his first smile in a long time. And for a while he had desperately chased his destiny, hunting down demon after demon in the hope of claiming his prize.

But eventually, he had realised that he was getting it wrong. This wasn't how he would achieve atonement. This wasn't his mission. It wasn't a race. One soul at a time, that was how he would get there - that was what he needed to concentrate on. Helping those who needed him, not for a reward, but because it was the right thing to do. If nothing they did mattered …

Everything had gone to hell shortly after, and then they'd put things right. And it had fallen apart again - gone to hell again and again. Things always fell apart. But the team always found their way back, to each other, to the mission and that whole time - through all the death, destruction and bloodshed - a little part of him had thought maybe, _just maybe_ ...

Until today. Until right now. With the eyes of the circle upon him, and showing no flicker of emotion, Angel signed his name, in blood, on the prophecy scrolls. It took only moments … and damned him for eternity.

* * *

Cordelia had leapt out of bed. 'Oh my god oh my god…' she muttered under her breath, frantic and panicked. She had ripped open the drawer in her bureau and rooted all the way through it. When she didn't find what she was looking for, she ripped it right out and emptied the entire contents on her bedroom floor. 'Where is it? where is it?' she clutched at her hair in desperation and then crouched on the floor to search through the scattered mess. It wasn't there.

'My handbag!' she raced through into the living area and grabbed at her purse, once more tearing her way through her possessions, with no regard for them - as she desperately hunted out the little book where she kept her contacts and telephone numbers. 'Come on, come on…'

'Cordelia - are you looking for me?'

She whirled around, letting out a small, startled yelp. A woman was standing in her apartment… sort of standing. She was hovering a couple of inches above the ground, she was ever so slightly transparent and her edges were blurry. But, insubstantial and floating or not, it was exactly who Cordelia had been wanting to contact. 'Willow!'

* * *

Doyle - wherever he was now - was still shining. Not that it was noticeable, the whole place was shining - that same, brilliant bright white light that infused his whole body. He screwed his eyes up against it … and became aware of shapes moving inside the whiteness, other figures - like him.

'The Promised One,' a voice boomed out from somewhere behind the light. 'Brothers and sisters - The Promised One now stands before us.'

Doyle raised his arm up to shield his eyes from the light, in an attempt to better see who was out there.

'Do you know why you are here, Promised One?' the voice asked him.

'Um … no,' he admitted, still squinting.

Whispering broke out amongst the semi-hidden figures, 'he knows not why he is here.'

'He does not yet know.'

'He is to find out.'

Doyle stood his ground, 'um - never mind why I'm here. _Where_ is here? Where am I?'

'He does not recognise…'

'It is his destiny…'

'He does not know.' The whispers came again.

Then the first voice sounded again - still loud and booming. 'You have ascended to a higher plane, Promised One. You are among the Powers That Be.'

'Oh.' He glanced down at his t-shirt and underpants, all he had been wearing when they took him, and wished he had been slightly better dressed for the occasion. Still - it could be worse, having been pulled straight out of bed the morning after his wedding night, he could be standing before all these ineffable higher beings completely naked. That didn't really bear thinking about, to be honest.

The voice was talking again. 'You are here because your destiny is fulfilled. Down on the plane of mortals, you completed the task which fate had assigned you and you completed it well.'

'Um … thanks.'

'An ancient pure blood army is no more, demon and human kind are safe from their destruction and the scales are balanced once again. It is impressive a feat for one, small mortal to accomplish.'

Doyle fidgeted, not knowing what to say. It hadn't felt impressive at the time. He hadn't really known what he was doing, he had just sort of … done it. Taken the problem in front of him one step at a time until it was solved. He hadn't expected thanks. The mad cheering from the crowds last night had been mortifying enough. But to have now got the attention of the big guys upstairs ... he shuffled his feet anxiously. 'I'm still not sure why I'm here, though.'

'Your destiny is fulfilled. Your atonement is complete. Promised One - you have achieved redemption.'

'Oh…' again he didn't know what to say. He was glad to hear he was off the hook with the universe, that his many screw ups had been forgiven … but that still didn't actually turn back time and undo the screw ups themselves. And it didn't bring back to life all those people he failed to save - starting with his own Brachen family, and the tiny owner of that little, pink shoe - all the way up to the demons killed by The Scourge in the past few weeks.

He had thought maybe he would feel different once he had atoned - but he didn't. Nothing had changed. Not really. He just wasn't in trouble with the higher powers any more. But just because ineffable gods forgave you, did not mean the harm you caused no longer mattered down in the real world.

'You still do not believe,' the voice said, it sounded a little amused. 'Come - we shall show you. A gift. One wish. One harm you have caused, in your life as a mortal, and we shall undo it - make it as if the harm was never so. Though do not be greedy, Promised One - too big a wish may alter the course of all that came after. We have suffered losses that way before.'

'A wish - you mean?' he paused and thought about it, 'you mean I can put something right? You'll let me change the past?'

'Perhaps - though it is wiser by far to change the present.'

He turned it all over in his mind, every mistake, every bad deed laid at his door - that he been made to pay for, and rightly so. He could make one - just one - go away. His first thought, of course, was the little, pink shoe … the tiny little girl, and her family. He could change his mind - the mind of the man he had been; beaten down and depressed and drunk, he could wish that the man he once was had given the right answer, had stopped his family from dying.

But then he wondered what would have happened next - if he did that? Would he save them? Or would he die trying? And if he did save the brachen clan from extinction … he would never get the visions. The past five years would never have happened… him and Cordelia would never have happened… and he would never be The Promised One. The Scourge would still be out there, still killing.

He remembered the words of caution the higher power had spoken, about not being too greedy, not wishing for something that would change too much, and understood the meaning behind them. Changing the past was a dangerous business, he had seen that well enough when he had attempted to rewrite history on his birthday, two years ago. Changing the past altered the present far too much … and made it worse. Just that one day - even though it was erased - had led to so much pain and bloodshed and death, had led to Jasmine taking over his…

He realised what he should wish for. 'There's a girl,' he told the PTB, 'Kalimania - Kali. She's in a coma, she'll never wake up - and it's my fault. I put her in it, when I infected her with Jasmine…'

'The devourer,' he heard some of the voices whisper.

'Ah - yeah, I guess you guys know her. But see, Kali - I didn't mean to do it, I didn't know. But now I'm fine - and she's payin' the price for my mistakes. Please - can you put it right?'

There was the susurration of whispers behind the light, the blurred figures consulting amongst themselves. Doyle couldn't make out what they were saying. And then the loud voice came again. 'It is done. The Sesquoitian girl is awake. And now Promised One - it is time to discuss what comes next - for you.'

* * *

Angel stood at the window in his office. The sunlight shone down on him and he smiled, feeling its warmth. Once the sun set tonight, this would be nothing but a memory. He would never feel the gentle heat of its rays again … even if, by some miracle, he scraped through the fight - the necro tempered glass would be long gone. It would be back to shadows and darkness and death.

The door opened behind him, and from the scent of the Chanel he knew it was Harmony. 'Do you ever miss it?' he asked her. There was silence, as she didn't understand the question. Well he couldn't blame her, she never claimed to be a mind reader. 'You were turned what?... five years ago?'

'Oh - that,' she nodded, as she finally understood. 'Yeah. Graduation night.' She took a couple of steps towards him, thinking about what he had asked. She never really thought about it … she never really _thought_, if she could possibly avoid it. 'I don't know. It's weird. Part of me always knew that life would end after high school … I was very popular, the whole "golden years" thing.'

'I don't remember what it was like - being human. It was too long ago.'

She shrugged. 'Not that great. Zits. Dandruff. Mortality. But I do remember…' she paused for a moment, Angel turned his head slightly to look at her. 'My heart,' she told him, 'and the way it would thump when I kissed a really hot boy for the first time… that was cool. Angel? Something's going down, isn't it? And everyone's in on it but me.'

He shook his head. 'You're not a part of this.'

'I could be. I'm your personal assistant, I could - you know - _assist_ you or something.'

'Lilah,' he said.

'Lilah?'

He crossed to his desk, she followed him. 'I need to get some things done,' he told her, 'I'd like to keep our liaison out of the loop.'

'Out of the loop - that's where I live.'

'Just distract her, OK? Throw some files at her - some punches… I don't care. Just keep her busy for as long as you can.' He headed for the door.

'Where are you going now?' she called after him.

'To see an old friend.'

* * *

Lindsey let Angel into his apartment. 'I thought I might see you today,' he said, settling down on the sofa, 'you in?'

'I'm in - thanks for the help.'

'And now, I'm guessing, is when the fun begins. You didn't join that circle 'cause you look good in a dark robe, or because you enjoy a good chant. You didn't even do it for the power - you're fixing to do something stupid.'

'In a manner of speaking.'

'Do you mind me asking why?'

'Because it isn't about us, Lindsey,' Angel said to him. 'It's about them. The Wolf, the Ram and the Hart. The ones we've been fighting against forever.'

Lindsey leaned forward, his arms resting along his knees and his hands clasped together. 'You know you can't beat 'em.'

'Maybe they're not there to be beat,' Angel suggested. 'Maybe they're there to be fought. Maybe fighting them is what makes human beings so remarkably strong.'

'You're not talking about the kind of strength human beings have. This isn't about coveting your neighbour's ass, your buddy's job, the last Mallomar in the box. You're talking about fighting flesh and something that passes for blood demons with enormous power, and they will mow you down.'

'Maybe,' Angel shrugged, 'but I can't help thinking, once this world was theirs … and now it's not.'

'Isn't it?'

'Give me the hell on earth speech, Lindsey. I know how bad things are, how much sway the demons hold … there's always gonna be power and there's always gonna be corruption.

'But for one night only - you wanna give that power and corruption a black eye? A bloody nose?'

'That's the plan, they control everything - apart from our power to choose. We have free will and I am gonna make sure they _never_ forget it.'

'Sounds good - where do I sign?'

'You're in?' Angel asked.

'That's why you came here, isn't it - to recruit me?'

'I guess it is - yeah.'

'Then I'm in - you want me? I'm on the team.'

'Why?'

Lindsey looked down at the framed photograph on his coffee table. 'It's what she'd want me to do. Hell - it's what she'd do herself. So the apocalypse is coming? I can't let my Katie down.'

* * *

'Your clock is wrong,' Willow said, pointing at the offending item. Cordelia glanced at it, utterly bewildered as to how Willow was here, and what her clock had to do with anything, but greatly relieved that she was no longer alone and that she had some help. 'Doyle's gone,' she told the witch. 'He just - vanished. I need to find him. I need your help.'

'I know,' she was still floating, she seemed a little out of it. 'I was on the astral plane, I heard you calling.'

'I didn't ring you yet.'

'You didn't have to.'

'Right well - thanks for getting your astral over here, Doyle's gone. Get him back for me. Please!'

Willow smiled, the blurred edges of her figure rippled slightly in the light. 'OK - start from the beginning, what happened?'

'I …' she began to pace, her fingers threaded together and her hands wringing themselves nervously. 'I don't really know. We were in bed, talking and …' she gave a strained, high pitched laughter, 'well that really doesn't matter, now does it? But we were in bed - and all of a sudden he just started to glow.'

'Glow?'

'Uhuh,' she nodded, 'like from the inside - this great, bright light pouring out of him.'

'Has he ever done that before?'

'Of course not!'

'OK OK, listen Cordy - try not to freak out on me, alright?'

'Try not to freak? My husband has disappeared and there's a see-through witch floating in my living room!'

Willow's face lit up into a smile, 'hey - I didn't know you guys got married! Congratulations! Oh…' her mouth twisted up, 'though I can see why it's important to get him back. Marriage - that's a pretty huge step. Xander tried it one time it … didn't end well.'

'Can we focus?' Cordelia snapped.

'Right - sorry.'

'So he was glowing - and then he was gone. Just not there any more. I didn't even see it happen. I didn't blink or anything - he just was there … and then he wasn't. And we need to get him back here. Now.'

'No,' Willow said, starting to float around the apartment, inspecting it like it was a crime scene.

'No?'

'I mean - yes, we need to get him back here. But no he wasn't just gone. You know your clock is wrong?'

Cordelia looked annoyed, 'you said that already.'

'Well it's important. Your apartment has experienced a temporal disturbance. I can feel it.'

'What does that mean?'

Willow floated towards Cordelia and hovered right in front of it. 'It means time stood still in here - for everyone except probably Doyle. He didn't just vanish, you were frozen - you and the clock - and then he was taken. Once he was gone,' she shrugged her insubstantial shoulders, 'you all popped back into life, quick as a bunny. But from your perspective it looked like Doyle had just vanished.'

'What difference does it make how it happened?' Cordelia asked. 'The result is the same - Doyle is gone!'

'The difference is, if the thing that took him did so by causing a temporal disturbance then they definitely took him on purpose and they are very, _very_ powerful. They have him for a reason - and they won't wanna give him back. Finding him will be hard.'

Cordelia looked even more anxious, 'but you can still do it, right?'

* * *

Angel arrived in the doorway to Spike's apartment. He could see the team huddled inside - as the door was ripped from its hinges. 'This is where you kept Drogyn,' he surmised, inspecting the damage, 'something came here and took him.' He walked inside, the others got to their feet.

'To the circle,' Wesley said, 'so you could kill him to prove you'd gone over.'

'I didn't have a choice - they would have killed us both if …'

'We get it,' Gunn interrupted him. 'We'd just like to know if they're gonna need any of the rest of us as proof. Pick us off one by one, you know what I'm saying?'

'Not they won't,' Angel said - and his voice was certain. 'Because we're killing them all tonight.'

* * *

'Now your atonement is fulfilled,' the voice said, still speaking from inside the bright light, 'your punishment is over. You are relieved of the burden of your visions.'

'But ... no!' Doyle protested, his eyes were still screwed up against the brightness - and he was peering into the light trying to make out the indistinct figures of The Powers that were obscured and hidden by the luminous glow. 'If I don't have my visions … then I can't see people to help them. Then I'm not part of the good fight any more. I need my visions.'

From beyond the light, he heard the snickering sounds of laughter. 'He does not know,' the voices whispered, 'he does not yet understand…'

He felt his stomach lurch inside of him, 'understand what?' he called out to them.

'You are not returning to the good fight,' the loud voice told him, sounding amused. 'Your time on the mortal plane has passed, you have ascended beyond that realm. You are one of us now. The battles you fight will be on this higher plane. You have become a higher being - and you will remain with us here … forever.'


	87. Not Fade Away: Part Two

_Part Two_

Angel looked around at his family, he felt a pang of pain in his chest. They had come so far - they had been through so much. And tonight it all ended. But that was tonight - today was still today, and he wanted the people he loved to make sure that their every last moment counted. 'I want you to do something for me,' he said to them. They looked at him, weary but expectant, waiting to hear what was to be asked of them. 'Take the day off,' Angel said.

They all looked surprised, 'What?' Spike asked.

'Angel,' Gunn said, 'if we're planning to assassinate the power elite of the apocalypse tonight, shouldn't we be cowboying up?'

But Angel shook his head, 'we'll be ready,' he assured them. This next part was really important, it mattered to him - he looked around at them all. 'But today, I want you guys to go out. Live. Do whatever you want. Live the day like it's your last … 'cause it probably is.'

* * *

Cordelia watched anxiously as Willow, with her eyes closed - and bobbing up and down gently in the air, searched for any sign of Doyle - in this world or any other. 'Can you see him? Can you find him?'

'Shhh, I'm just...' the witch nodded her head - her red hair had started to glow white at the roots as she worked. 'Yeah - I think I can see him …' she wrinkled her nose up. 'He's just in his underpants.'

'Well we were in bed!' Cordelia crossed her arms, protectively, across her chest, covering up the little nightie which was all she had on.

'And now he's on a higher plane of existence in his boxer briefs.' She opened her eyes. 'He's in paradise.'

'You mean he's _dead_?' she sounded horrified.

'Not exactly. Not that that would matter - not to me anyway,' she gave a snort of amusement, 'I could fix that. But he's still alive. He's just up there. In heaven. With the higher powers. In his underwear.'

'Can you bring him back?'

'I brought Buffy back didn't I? And she _was_ dead. And I was _a lot_ less powerful then. But I'll need your help.'

'Anything,' Cordelia gabbled, her words tumbling out over each other in her desperation to get the job done - to get down to action - to rescue Doyle. 'What do you need?'

'I need candles and a sacred circle, and I need you to set them up for me 'cause…' she glanced down at her incorporeal, floating, astral body and then back up Cordelia, '_damn!'_

* * *

Doyle's whole body filled with cold dread followed immediately by searing hot panic. He understood now why he was glowing, the same as all the other glowing figures. Because he was one of them. He had become one of them - without meaning to. 'No,' he shook his head, vehemently, desperately, trying to make them see. 'I can't stay here. You don't understand. I belong down there. With Cordy.'

'You have outgrown that realm,' the voice told him. 'You no longer belong amongst the lower beings. You are not one of them.'

'I'll always belong with Cordy - no matter what. We just got married...'

'The Chase girl made her choice,' the voice sounded diffident.

'I - she …. _What?_' He was breathing heavily and his heart was thumping in his chest, beating a frantic and panicked tattoo against his rib cage. He didn't understand what the voice was telling him - how any of this - where he was now - could have anything to do with a decision Cordelia had made. She would never choose to lose him, not even like this.

'The Chase girl chose to give up her life amongst the higher powers - to return to the plane of the lower beings and live out her mortal life. And now you take up her mantle in her place.'

'Cordelia … Cordelia was … _what?_'

'You were never meant to be here, Promised One,' the voice told him, 'never meant to last this long.'

'I know - a higher power…'

'The Chase girl. She inherited your visions when you died. But she was human - and they were killing her…'

Doyle was reeling from this information, feeling lightheaded and unsteady on his feet as he pieced together what the voice was telling him, in his head, and tried to make sense of it. 'Cordy …'

'And then her body was spent - giving birth to the devourer.'

'_Cordelia? _Gave birth to Jasmine?'

'She never woke from her coma - there was no Promised One to wish her awake - and when her body succumbed to death, her soul joined us here, on the higher planes - a proven champion.'

He still didn't believe what he was hearing. '_Cordelia…?'_

'But the Chase girl was unhappy here. So she meddled where she ought not. She changed the past, changed the course of her entire life.'

'It was Cordelia who saved me,' he muttered to himself, his voice still filled with disbelief. They had known the world had changed, that things were not the way they were meant to be because of the intervention of a higher power, ever since the morning after that first night with The Scourge. The oracles had told them that much. He remembered their refusal to reveal the identity of the power who took an interest in their lives. The auguries were keeping quiet on that one, Angel had reported back.

And then it was Lilah who had told him he had been destined to die. The first time he had met her - she had told him the truth about himself and the beacon, a truth he had not even suspected until that point … a truth which had been central to his entire life, this past year. He had known a higher power had personally intervened to save his life, for four years now … and now he found that higher power had been Cordelia all along. He felt like the whole world was in upheaval beneath his feet, like he didn't know anything anymore.

'She altered just one small moment,' the voice said '- a little, subtle moment so insignificant we have never been able to find it - and in doing so, she averted your death - and ceased to be a higher being. The human girl lived out her mortal life on the lower planes - her destiny irrevocably altered from its true course. And we were left short a higher power. Your continued existence robbed us of one of our own - and now your destiny is complete, it is you who shall take her place.'

His head snapped up, his bewildered musing cut short as he was reminded what he was doing there in the first place. 'No!'

'You have no choice.'

'Cordelia chose!'

'Yes - she chose to give her destiny, her higher powerdom, over to you.'

'That's not what she meant to happen!'

'And yet it is what has come to pass. Your life on the mortal plane is over, you are a lower being no more. You have borne the visions for many years, bravely and well - you have saved many lives, and now you will continue your mission from an elevated position. Your destiny is fulfilled and you have moved on - ascended. You may control the visions now. We will leave them with you - and you may decide for yourself who is worthy to bear them in your place.'

'No!'

'It is done!' the voice boomed - and then there was a clap of thunder, and the lights and the blurred figures disappeared, leaving Doyle all alone. He looked around himself in panic. He was still glowing - and he was now trapped in a pool of perfect light, with no one else around.

But, beneath him, he could see the whole world spread out below. The entire plane of human existence. He could see everything, and he looked down on it all like the man in the moon … like God. He shut his eyes - the height made him feel dizzy, a wave of nausea and panic washed over him. 'Cordelia will find me,' he said to himself, gritting his teeth and willing himself to keep calm. 'Cordelia is looking for me. She will find me. Cordelia will save me.'

* * *

The microphone stood on the stage, waiting for a performer… Lorne stepped up behind it, he held a seabreeze in his hand. It had been a long time since he had sung in public, this was not how he had imagined his return to the stage. But after all those years with ghosts in his head, thinking he was crazy because he could hear music and no one else could, there was only one way he was ever going to spend his last day in the world he loved so much. Only one thing - in the whole cockamamy universe - that was so beautiful, and so painful and so _right _that he had to go out doing it. There was only one way he could sum it all up.

'_If I ruled the world, every day would be the first day of spring. Every heart would have a new song to sing. And we'd sing of the joy every morning would bring …'_

_..._

Spike jostled at the bar - it was crowded, and the atmosphere was not friendly. He picked up a shot of whisky and gestured cheers to the bartender, just as someone banged into him. He turned to look, it was a biker type - big and surly and covered in tattoos. The biker glared at him.

Spike grinned, a thrill of anticipation coursing through him. 'Ah - nice crowd.' He downed the shot, and held his glass out for a refill.

'It can get pretty ugly in here,' the bartender told him, pouring another shot of whisky into the outstretched glass. 'I gotta warn you.'

He downed this next shot, 'that's what I'm after,' he looked around him in delight, holding his glass out for a refill once more. 'Couple more belts of courage and I might just make my presence felt.'

'It's your funeral.'

'Well I never had a proper one,' he grinned, and drained his glass.

...

Outside the teen shelter, working in the sunshine, Anne packed boxes and furniture into the bed of a truck. There were a couple of guys helping her and she gave them directions, then noticed a man walking towards her down the sidewalk. She raised her hand to shield her eyes - and smiled as she recognised him. 'Charles!'

'Annie!' Gunn gave her a hug. 'How you doing?'

She shrugged. 'Pretty good, I guess. We got a bunch of new furniture donated. Gotta move this stuff to the new shelter.'

'Still fighting the good fight, huh?'

'That's the drill. How are things up town?'

Gunn looked troubled. There was more fight - but a lot less good. He asked after Rondell and the guys. He'd hit up a couple of their old spots but not found them. He picked up a box to help her pack.

'They should be around,' she picked up a chair and started carrying it to the truck. 'They said they'd help me haul this stuff. You know how it is, though. Things come up.' They handed the box and the chair over to the men to pack into the truck, and went back to get another load.

'Yeah? You get much vamp trouble these days?'

She laughed. 'It never really goes away. But the boys help out, we're pretty safe. It gives me time to concentrate on the little things: crack, runaways, abuse victims, narcotics. The old gang.' They picked up another box each and headed back to where the truck idled by the kerb.

'Yeah, I remember,' Gunn said.

'It's not so bad, we had some really decent donations and it's helping.' Once again they handed the boxes to the men and went back for more. 'We actually have a part time, paid psychiatric staff,' she told Gunn, proudly.

They came to a stop, standing in the shade of the shelter. Gunn looked at her, his brow furrowed. 'What if I told you it doesn't help ?' he asked. 'What would you do if you found out that none of it matters? That's it all controlled by forces more powerful and uncaring than we can even conceive, and they will never let it get better down here. What would you do?'

But she only smiled at him. 'I'd get this truck packed before the new stuff gets here.'

That made Gunn smile as well. If nothing they did mattered …

'Wanna give me a hand?'

He nodded, 'I do.' And they each took an end of the couch, ready to lift it to the truck. '1, 2, 3…'

...

Fred finished up with her taco and dropped the wrapper in the trash. The planetarium show at the observatory was about to start. When she had first come to L.A, she had used to come here quite often, watch the show about the stars and the universe and marvel at all the great people who had made their discoveries - and dream of making discoveries of her own, which would make her the equal of those giants.

It was a long time since then - since she had been that naive girl, fresh from Texas. She'd made discoveries - not ones that would put her name on the map - but greater and more terrible discoveries than the Fred who existed before Pylea would ever have dreamed of. Alternate worlds, different dimensions, the ability to travel between them all … there was so much more to the universe than this little planetarium show would tell its visitors, and she had discovered it all.

Perhaps it was morbid, to go and watch a show about the end of the universe, the death of the sun, on the day she expected to die - the day she would face down an apocalypse and put herself in its path. But instead, she found it comforting; to take all this destiny, and higher powers and balancing the scales - and boil it down to just the cold, hard science, she found that comforting. It took the myth and turned it into a language she understood, made her feel a part of it all - made her feel that even if she was just one tiny, insignificant particle in an infinite and uncaring cosmos - at least she was a particle who knew the score. The myth would survive beyond today - but so would the science. Enduring forever. Everything else was just … chalk on a sidewalk, waiting for the rain.

Her taco had been delicious, but after the show she was going to get herself an ice cream sundae… and maybe some pancakes.

...

Spike sat on a stool in the middle of the stage, a spot light shone down on him. He had a microphone in one hand and a whisky in the other. The bar was silent.

'My soul is wrapped in harsh repose/ midnight descends in raven -coloured clothes/' his eyes were half closed as he spoke these old words - the words that had led him to the very long life he had led, and ultimately to the death he now faced - into the microphone. He had travelled so far since he had written these words, and yet they still meant something to him. Even if it was just that they had marked the end of an ending, and now here he was facing another. 'But soft! behold!/ A sunlight beam/ cutting a swath of glimmering gleam/ my heart expands/ it has grown a bulge in't/ inspired by your beauty … effulgent.'

The silence of the bar lasted a moment longer, and then a man got to his feet, clapping, 'woo - yeah!' And applause broke out across the whole room, the crowd whooping their appreciation and enthusiasm. Spike got to his feet, took a bow and grinned - looking elated. 'Thank you. That was for Cecily. All right - the next one is called "the wanton folly of me mum"!'

...

Angel held Connor, as the two of them and Wesley toured the natural history museum - looking at the dinosaurs. 'What's this one, big guy? Huh?' Angel asked his son - as they gazed up at a skeleton - a bit bigger than a large elephant.

'Big one - rawwrrr,' the little boy made claws and growled at the dinosaur.

'See, it's a … a hue ...uh a…'

'Huehuecanauhtlus,' Wesley said, pronouncing all the strange Aztec syllables perfectly.

'Right - yeah - what Wesley said,' they walked over to the next skeleton, which was rather smaller.

'And this one is an epidexipteryx,' Wesley said, reading the label, 'a dinosaur rather like a chicken.'

'Chicken!' Connor giggled and proceeded to make squawking sounds, flapping his little arms like chicken wings. They wandered through the hall of dinosaurs, stopping to examine each one.

'You remember when we broke into this place?' Angel asked after a while.

'Yes…' Wesley replied, his brow furrowed as he didn't quite understand Angel's point.

'Simpler times, eh?' the vampire reminisced.

'You were being pushed off the rails by Wolfram and Hart, you were trying to hunt down Darla - who was dying at the time. A few weeks later you fired us all, Doyle was in prison, you set fire to Darla, I got shot … and this night was the night that reawakened your blood lust.'

'Oh yeah - maybe times were never simple.'

Wesley smiled, 'maybe they never were.' They walked into the hallway of the ascent of man, walking past the models of different early hominids. 'Daddy!' Connor cried out, pointing at the cro magnon.

'That's not me!' Angel sounded offended.

'There is a slight similarity around the forehead,' Wesley said. Angel's hand flew up to his overhanging brow and began to feel it, self consciously. 'Maybe we should go get some ice cream,' the vampire suggested, huffily, wanting to get away from the cavemen.

'Ice ceam!' Connor agreed, nodding his little head vociferously. The two of them turned to go - but Wesley didn't follow. Angel looked back to see where he was, 'Wes?'

'Oh - uh - coming …' he hurried after them, 'you know I don't think they can check these models very often,' he said.

'What makes you say that?'

'That last caveman was wearing shoes…'

...

Lindsey hadn't moved from his sofa. He knew Angel had told him that tonight he would die, and he should go out and make the most of every last minute he had - but where was he going to go? What was out there - sky diving or sunsets or sipping cocktails on a beach - that would feel perfect if he tried to do them alone? Aiming for happiness - that was when he felt his aching loss worst of all.

He picked up the framed photograph and looked down at it. Kate smiled back up at him. 'My last day on earth, babe,' he said to her, 'wouldn't matter what we were doing - as long as I was with you, it would be perfect.'

* * *

Cordelia had followed all of Willow's instructions and drawn out a sacred circle, lighting candles and placing them around its circumference. Then Willow floated into place. 'Is there anything else?' Cordy asked, 'do you need -'

'Just quiet. I'm working on a lot of levels, here,' there was laughter in her voice. This was an interesting challenge for her, taking on higher powers - snatching someone from out of their grip… she couldn't wait to get stuck in.

Cordelia mimed zipping her lips and then took a step back. Her hands still wrung together and she rocked on her heels, her eyes wide and anxious, as she waited for the mojo to begin.

Willow's astral body took a deep breath - though there was no telling if it was actually required or just force of habit - and then she tilted her head back until she was staring straight at the ceiling and then … nothing. She just hung there - staring.

'Um - Willow? Did you need to maybe …' she was cut off as a huge column of light suddenly sprung out of the circle, shooting right up to the ceiling and submerging Willow. Willow opened her mouth and screamed.

* * *

Doyle had finally dared to prise one of his eyes open and - ignoring the dizzy, sick making vertigo of floating high above the world - had searched for Cordelia. It had taken a while, working out how to focus - when everything was laid out below him, like he was floating up on the international space station. He could see every mountain range, every river, every sea. He could see his hometown and his home - thousands of miles apart - at the same time.

And crawling around the whole surface of the planet; living and loving and fighting and dying - he could see all the people - all six billion of them. But there was only one he was interested in finding …

The wave of sickness hit him again - he was sure higher powers weren't supposed to feel all vomity and headachey - he obviously wasn't very good at this. Or maybe it was a bit like travel sickness, the switching between planes had left him out of sorts but would wear off if he could get used to it. Though he had no intention of getting used to it. He was getting out of here. Cordelia had managed to escape this place, the other powers had told him as much, so it must be possible.

However, she had apparently managed it by rewriting the whole of history, and he was loath to do anything so drastic - not when he finally had everything so good down on the lower plane. He would rather wait for Cordelia to rescue him - but he couldn't just leave her to it. She didn't know where he was, after all. He needed to find her, see what she was doing, nudge her onto the right track - help her help him.

He squinted - focusing down on the west coast of the North American continent until he had located California - and then he found the seething mass of L.A, and narrowed down his gaze until he got to downtown - and there was his street, his building, his apartment … and there was Cordelia!

She was standing in the middle of their apartment, her hands pressed nervously against each other - her index fingers pressed against her lips - it made her look like she was locked in an anxious prayer. Well that made sense - she was terrified, of course she was. 'Cordelia!' he shouted, though he knew she wouldn't hear him. 'Cordy, I'm up here! Cordy - please! Please hear me!'

She was watching something, her anxious eyes fixed on one spot. He frowned and looked at what she was looking at. It was a shining column of light, right in the middle of the apartment. And there was a figure suspended inside of it - though he couldn't make out who it was, the light was so bright.

He didn't know what it was he was seeing, but he did know - right the way down to his higher power toes - that this was Cordelia attempting to rescue him. This was what she was trying. 'Cordelia!' he yelled again, 'I'm up here!'

* * *

The three of them sat in the busy museum cafe. Connor had managed to smear a great deal of his ice cream all over his face, and Wesley was attempting to clean him up with a napkin. Angel watched them, his heart feeling heavy. This was the last time they would all be together. These were the last moments either man would get to spend with the little boy.

After this, Connor would be given away - and they would, in all probability, be dead. And Connor was so young - he wouldn't remember the two of them. Oh, he might know their names - might recognise them from their pictures … but he would have no recollection of who they were - or how much they had loved him. He would not remember the day they took him to the museum, gave him ice cream. He would not remember this time spent together and how much it had meant to all of them.

'There we go,' Wesley crumpled up the napkin, 'I think I got the worst of it - though you've still got sticky fingers.'

'Sticky fingers,' Connor repeated - then he reached out with those sticky fingers and grabbed at Wesley's nose. 'Got your nose!'

'Oh you've got my nose?' Wesley reached out and pinched Connor's little nose, then stuck his thumb behind his forefinger and showed it to the toddler. 'Well I've got your nose - what do you think about that?'

'Not my nose!' Connor laughed and smashed his hands down on his table.

'It is too your nose. I'll give you it back if you give me mine.'

'OK,' they both reached out and pretended to pop each other's noses back on their respective faces.

Angel smiled, sadly, and checked his watch. It was time. It was over. 'We've got to get going,' he said.

Wesley glanced at him, 'we've got a while yet,' he disagreed - and Angel knew he didn't want to say goodbye to Connor. Wasn't ready. God did Angel understand that.

'I've got to pack up his things - get him to safety. He needs to be far out of L.A before all this goes down,' the vampire said. 'Besides - I know there are other people you need to say your final goodbyes to.'

The watcher looked surprised, 'there are?'

Angel's smile was understanding. 'Just don't let her know what we're up to - OK?'

...

There was a knock at the door. Lilah went to open it, though she was not in the mood for company. Not only had the entire team been absent - with no explanation - for the whole day, but for some reason Harmony had had her go over file after file of depositions until she was seeing double. It had been a long day - and not a very pleasant one, especially after the promise of the morning - that terrible fight which had then never gone anywhere. It put her in a bad mood.

But that changed when she opened the door and saw who was standing there. 'What brings you here?' she asked, feeling her heart begin to thump a little faster in her chest.

'I thought I'd just stop by for a visit.' Wesley leaned down and kissed her - slowly at first, but passionately - and the intensity only built up as the seconds ticked by. Still kissing, she pulled him inside - and swung the front door closed behind them.

* * *

Willow still floated in her column of light. Her hair was completely white now - though it was hard to tell through the blinding brilliance surrounding her. '_Producat ilium in domum suam,' _she yelled up at the ceiling. 'I command you! _Tribuo! Opsequor!' _

Cordelia still stood just outside the sacred circle, hovering anxiously, holding her breath. She didn't know what was happening, or how yelling Latin words at the ceiling would help. She knew Willow had a lot of power - she had brought Buffy back from the dead, she had been the one to call all the slayers and change Cordy's life forever. There wasn't much Willow couldn't do - not many rules of the universe she couldn't bend to her will if she so chose … but if the witch was right, and Doyle had been taken by the higher powers themselves, was trapped up on the higher planes - how could a bit of Latin really change anything? It wouldn't be enough. It couldn't be enough!

'_Et transire super ipsum,' _Willow yelled from inside the circle - still hovering a few inches above it. She made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat. 'Oh come on, my Latin sucks OK?' she yelled in the general direction of the ceiling. 'Just give him back! _Now!'_

_..._

Up in the heavens, staring nervously down into his dining room below, Doyle saw the column of light suddenly shoot upward. It shot right through the ceiling, into the office, through the roof of the building and up into the sky.

And then his own pool of shining light opened up, the column thrust its way upwards, seizing him in its glare. And then he felt … it was like he was swimming, and something beneath the water had grabbed his ankle and pulled him under the waves. It was that same feeling of being pulled down, quickly - a sharp shock, and the uncomfortable sensation that he had left his stomach behind, miles above him.

...

In the apartment, a heavy object suddenly hurtled through the ceiling - yelling - and Doyle landed on the floor with a loud thud. At the exact same moment, the column of light collapsed in on itself and vanished, leaving the room suddenly very dark.

Cordelia rushed across to the huddled mass that was her husband, and rolled him over. 'Oh my gosh - Doyle, are you OK?'

'Cordelia,' he croaked out.

She threw her arms around him, and they stayed down on the floor - just holding each other, breathing heavily with relief.

Inside the sacred circle, Willow grinned at them, 'see - I told you it would be easy.' She was looking delighted with herself.

'You said it would be hard,' Cordelia corrected her, turning to look - but not taking her arms from around Doyle.

'Well - hard for anyone who isn't me.' She grinned again, her tongue sticking out from between her teeth, her eyes dancing with delight … and then she just disappeared, winking out of the room, as if she had never been there.

Doyle blinked, 'where'd she go?'

'Oh,' Cordelia had turned back to her husband now, was holding him close and just drinking him in with her eyes. 'That was just her asteroid body. She'll be fine.'

...

Willow looked around the place she found herself, annoyed. She had been pulled against her will out of Cordelia's apartment. Not that she had been planning on hanging around all day, now Doyle was back and the job was done, or anything. But she had at least planned to say goodbye. The place was blindingly white, and she could just make out blurry figures moving behind the dazzling brightness. She raised her hand to her eyes to shield them. 'Who dares bring me here against me will?' she yelled at the indistinct figures.

'You grow too powerful, witch,' a loud voice boomed out at her from beyond the light. 'Your power tips the scales - for too long now we have grown wary of your presence on the lower planes And now you have robbed us of a higher power … and it is you who must take his place.'

'You mean …'

'You belong to this place now, witch - the higher planes. You are a lower being no more, you must replace he that you have stolen and become one of us, as he replaced the one his life stole from us before. You have ascended - to guard and watch the world of mortals below.'

A slow and satisfied smile spread across Willow's face.


	88. Not Fade Away: Part Three

_Part Three_

'Do you think they'll come back for you?' Cordelia asked. She and Doyle had moved over to the sofa and were lying on it, wrapped up in each other's arms, her head was rested on his chest - and he was propped up by a whole load of cushions.

He shook his head, 'nah, I think I'm safe.'

She twisted her head to peer up at him, 'but if they wanted you as a higher power - if that was your destiny…'

'It wasn't my destiny, really,' he told her, 'and - uh - I have it good authority that when one higher power refuses to play ball and returns to earth, they just choose someone else to snatch up and replace 'em.'

'They do?' she sounded doubtful but hopeful.

'Uhuh - my career as a higher power is over before it really began. Scout's honour.'

'It's just crazy,' she snuggled back down and held him a little tighter.

'What is?'

'You - The Promised One, the messiah and king in Pylea and now you're some kind of demi -god.'

'Pretty impressive soundin' resumé, yeah?'

She gave a loud 'ha!' of laughter. 'It sounds good - but then here you are in your little underpants and … it just seems crazy. Like, how are _you_ a higher being? The higher powers looked down at the whole earth, saw the two of us down here - me with my slayer powers and fabulous shoes and you with the history of petty crime and the whole atonement gig and they thought "I know - we'll make the short one with the extreme chest hair a god"?' She snorted in disbelief, 'I just never figured gods would wear polyester. Feels like the whole universe is getting gypped.'

Doyle chuckled softly and planted a kiss on the top of her head. 'I think they just knew you were a lost cause, already,' he told her.

'What's _that_ supposed to mean?' she sounded offended.

He paused for a moment, wondering how to tell her - wondering if she really wanted to know, 'you know how I was supposed to die all those years ago - and a higher power rewrote history and saved me?'

'My favourite higher power in all of history.'

He smiled. 'Well - that doesn't come as a surprise, love. See - when I was up there - they told me that, the time I died, I transferred my visions to someone before I - you know - kicked the bucket. Turns out,' he pulled one of his arms free from their embrace and rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. 'Well it turns out I gave 'em to you. You bore my visions for years … only humans aren't supposed to have 'em.'

She was staring up at him again, now, a frown playing across her face as she listened.

'They were killin' y',' he admitted. 'Slowly - and painfully. I don't know how it all went down exactly, but the upshot was - when you died - you became a higher being and joined The Powers up there on their own plane.'

'Wait. _I'm_ a demi- goddess?'

'Well, I could have always told you that,' he chuckled.

'So - what happened?'

'Best I can tell? You got bored.' He smiled down at her, 'you were the higher power that rewrote history and saved me, Cordelia. You kept me alive so you could come back to earth and live out the mortal life you were supposed to have.'

Her frown was even deeper now, her brow furrowed. 'So … the visions were mine?'

'Uhuh.'

'That means …' she paused and thought about it for a moment. 'That's why the priests were so upset when you were a boy cow, the prophecies told them it would be a girl. That means... I'm the real Queen of Pylea!' She sat bolt upright, looking offended, and smacked him on the chest with the back of her hand.

'Ow! What was that for?'

'You stole my throne!'

He burst out laughing as she stared down at him, angrily - until her furious expression twitched and she began to laugh too. 'I'm not letting this go,' she told him, lying back down and resting her head against his chest once again.

'I don't expect you to.'

'I want us to remember, at all times, who the real member of royalty is, here - and who the rotten, low down, crown usurping, throne stealer is.'

'I know my place.'

'And don't you forget it, buddy…' they fell quiet, wrapped in each other's arms. Cordelia's index finger tickled the skin of Doyle's chest through his t-shirt - right above his heart. She peeked up at him again. 'So - it's really all over? For real this time? All your mad destinies?'

'It's over, everything - all of it… even …' he took a deep breath. 'They told me I'd fulfilled my atonement, that I'd reached redemption.'

'You don't sound very happy about that.'

'It's just…' he sighed, and stroked the soft skin of her arm - thinking how to explain it, 'it's something I've been workin' towards for so long now. And now it's over... I don't know what comes after - that's scary. And my visions … I was supposed to give them to someone else - I didn't. I don't know what it means for my visions.'

'You think you've lost them?'

He shook his head, 'I don't know.'

'What was it like up there? Was it heaven?'

He twisted his mouth up. 'It was just kinda bright. All glowy light and not much else at all. I can see why you got bored.'

'And you weren't tempted to stay up there? Live for eternity as an immortal deity balancing the scales?'

'Nuhuh,' he shook his head. 'No way. Life - even an immortal one - wouldn't be worth living without you.'

A slow smile spread across her face and she leaned up to kiss him … they were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the stairs and Angel's voice calling out, 'Doyle? Cordy? You there?'

They pulled apart and glanced down at themselves, embarrassed - they still hadn't managed to get dressed. But Angel was already half way into the apartment and so they just tumbled off the couch and went to meet him.

He was carrying Connor in one arm, and a suitcase in his left hand. Doyle squinted down at it, 'uh - you goin' somewhere, bud?'

'No - Connor is. And I need you guys to take him.'

* * *

The applause died down, and Lorne left the stage. He'd sung all afternoon - and he was still no clearer on what the future held for him. It was the curse of the psychic - to be able to see every path but his own. But he had said a proper goodbye, as best he could … sang as many songs that meant something to him that he could manage in the time he had, had his last seabreeze. It was time to go - to take his bow and exit stage left. What came after … he would have to wait and see.

...

Across town, Spike did the same. His poems - William's poems - had been written to tell the story of his life, and now he had told it. It was funny, he thought, as he downed one last whisky and headed out, it was just last year he'd given his life up for the first time - gone out in a literal blaze of glory, proved himself a champion. And now here he was, not twelve months later, readying to do the exact same thing. He wondered if he would manage to stay dead this time. Still - it sounded like tonight was going to be the real deal, a proper fight - one for the ages … and Spike had always known he would go down fighting. That's how he liked it - fists and fangs against the wall - what better way to end the perfect day?

...

The truck was finally packed, his boys had finally shown - and as the sun began to set, Gunn left them to their vamp patrol and headed back to his responsibilities. Meeting Angel - losing Alonna - it had taken him places, way beyond where his gang were now. He'd seen a whole new side to the world, travelled to different worlds … been to Vegas. His life had changed beyond anything the street kid he had once been could have possibly imagined. But his crew were still there - fighting the good fight. And so was Annie, helping the teens.

Even after tonight, when a whole bunch of champions would be wiped clean off the board, there would still be his boys - doing what they did, making their little corner of the world better and safer. And the whole world was full of little corners - and the people who lived in them protected their own, from the dark, from the demons … he and his family had got in way over their heads, backed themselves up against the wall until there was no way out for them. But for everybody else, the world would keep on turning - the sun would rise once again - and all the little humans, in lots of little ways, would keep on showing those higher powers, that ruled over everything so carelessly, that the world was theirs and there was no power stronger than their free will. They would keep on fighting. Even when Gunn was gone.

...

Fred scraped the last of her sundae from the bottom of the glass and then counted out the change to pay the bill. Her ice cream and coffee had come to four bucks and twenty cents. She left a twenty dollar tip. Heck, she was gonna die tonight and she couldn't take it with her. Might as well make someone else's day whilst she still could.

...

Wesley buttoned his shirt back up. 'You know you don't have to go,' Lilah told him, she sat up in bed, the sheets wrapped around her, and watched him. 'We could have all night.'

'I'm afraid I'm busy.'

She raised an eyebrow, 'so this was just a pittstop? An itch you couldn't scratch and I was just convenient?'

He finished getting dressed and looked at her, seriously. 'You were never just a convenience, Lilah.' He bent down, brushing her lips with her thumb and then kissed her. 'I'm glad I came.' Then he left her apartment and went to meet his family.

* * *

Angel put the suitcase down and reached into his inside pocket, pulling out a long thin envelope made of shiny paper. He handed it across to Doyle, who took it from him and opened it up. 'This is three plane tickets to Ireland,' the half demon said, reading them '... flight leavin' in a couple of hours.'

'Angel, what's going on?' Cordelia was so troubled she didn't even have time to feel embarrassed to be standing in front of Angel in nothing but her honeymoon negligeé.

'We're breaking out, taking them down - tonight,' Angel told them.

'Who?'

'The Senior Partners.' He ignored the horrified intake of breath from both of them, and looked at Doyle. 'The vision you had? The circle? I'm in - I've seen them, and I'm gonna kill 'em all. The guys are helping … but we don't walk away from this.'

'Angel - what you're talking about - it's suicide!' Cordelia sounded distressed.

'I know.'

'And that's _insane!_'

'It's why they won't expect it.'

'And why're you benchin' us?' Doyle asked him, 'sendin' us running back to the old country? We could help - '

'This isn't your fight,' Angel shook his head.

'All your fights are our fights!' Cordelia cried. She ran her hands through her hair, looking frustrated. 'Angel - if this is the end - we should be with you.'

But he only smiled at her. 'You will be.'

'But I'm a slayer! Who better to fight with you?'

'Who better to protect my son?' he countered. 'Listen - this goes down and The Senior Partners are gonna come for Connor. I need to know he is with people who can protect him, who will defend him with their lives. I need to know that the three people who matter to me more than anything else in the world are safe - and together.'

Doyle folded his arms across his chest and nodded his understanding. Of course he understood, Angel thought, their whole time together - Doyle was always the one who understood him, always got where he was coming from. 'You know we'll do everythin' we can to keep him safe,' the Irishman said, 'but we can't hold the Senior Partners off forever.'

Angel shook his head, 'you won't need to. Connor will be hidden - they won't be able to find him.'

'In Ireland? I hate to break it to you, bud, but I know from recent experience that the higher powers can see Ireland. And L.A. Right at the same time.'

'No - look,' He shifted Connor in his arms, and pulled up the sleeve of his little sweater. There were black curling marks drawn up the boy's arms. 'These marks are drawn all over Connor's body. They're the ones Miles Kendrick was using to hide from Vail - as long as he has these on him, no remote surveillance can pick him up: not scrying, not cameras, and not higher powers. Here…' he took some papers out of his pocket and this time handed them across to Cordelia. 'These symbols can be drawn on the walls of a room, keeps everyone in the room invisible to higher powers as well. And those ones,' he pointed to the second page, 'are the ones that go on Connor - obviously you'll need to repaint them after he has a bath. Just don't let him leave the house if he doesn't have his protective runes on.'

Cordelia looked down at the symbols in her hand and then back up at Angel, 'Angel - this is…'

'Just tell me you'll do it. This is the last thing I'll ever ask of you - either of you,' he looked between the both of him. 'Look after him. Protect him. And love him … like he's your own.'

Doyle nodded. 'We will, man,' he reached out and took Cordelia's hand, 'won't we?' He remembered when Wesley had first discovered the prophecy - _the father will kill the son - _and confided in him. The watcher had offered Doyle the chance to take Connor and Cordelia and return to Ireland, to protect the little boy. It seemed mad that all these years later, Angel was asking him to do the exact same thing. He remembered how jealous he had been, at the time, that Angel had a son - when he could never have children himself - and now Angel was handing his son over to Doyle, and asking him to raise him as his own. The machinations of fate, the wheels of destiny - they kept on turning - and they were always incomprehensible.

Cordelia's thoughts were headed down a different path, however. 'This is just … so fast.' The hand that wasn't holding Doyle's was rubbing her temple, as she tried to get her head around packing up and fleeing the country, with a baby in tow, in just a couple of hours.

'You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't necessary,' Angel said. 'After everything I've done to keep him … having to give him away - Please, Cordy?'

She looked down at her feet, biting her lip and nodded. 'Yeah,' she said quietly. 'Of course.'

He looked relieved, and then looked down at the little boy in his arms. 'OK buddy,' he had tears in his eyes but he strove to keep his voice upbeat and cheerful, to not worry him. 'You're gonna go on an adventure. You're going on vacation - to the country where daddy was born, with Aunty Cordy and Uncle Doyle. Doesn't that sound fun?'

But the little boy shook his head, stubbornly. 'Wanna stay with daddy.'

'Ah - you can't, big guy, daddy's gonna be real busy for a while.' He kissed Connor's fuzzy little head, 'but he'll be thinking of you the whole time. And one day … well, I'll always be there with you, Connor. Always.' He kissed him again, and squeezed him tight, closing his eyes. Some of the tears leaked out from underneath his shut lids. 'Cordy, will you take him?' he asked, his voice coming out as a fractured gasp, knowing he wouldn't be able to hand his son over - he needed him taking away. He held Connor as tight as he could until he felt Cordelia's strong arms lifting the boy from his grasp.

Immediately, his arms felt empty - and he knew they would feel empty until the moment he died. He raised a hand to brush away a tear - and when he opened his eyes he smiled at Connor, now balanced on Cordelia's hip. 'Yeah? You're gonna have a great time. You'll see.' he looked at his friends, 'I need to get going.'

'Yeah,' Doyle headed into the kitchen and opened a drawer. He took out something small and carried it back across to Angel, pressing into his hand. 'Take this, man, just in case… might come in handy.'

Angel looked down at it - it took a moment but then he recognised it. He hadn't seen anything like it for a very long time - But if Doyle was giving it to him now, then the Irishman must believe it would make a difference. Balance the scales. He nodded and stuck it in his pocket. Then with one last, lingering look at his son - he said his goodbyes, and left the apartment.

He was just leaving the office, headed back into the street, when his vampire hearing picked up the sound of Connor's cries, wailing for his father. It took every ounce of his strength to not turn back for him - and instead walk away.

* * *

The team were all gathered back in Spike's apartment - a heavy silence lay across them all. The very air felt oppressive. Angel looked around at them all. 'This may come out a little pretentious,' he said, 'but one of you will betray me tonight.'

Immediately, Spike raised a hand - volunteering himself. Angel just gave him a withering look and then spoke to the watcher. 'Wes.'

Spike lowered his hand and looked put out 'Oh - can I deny you three times?'

'Vail is the sorcerer of the bunch. Wes, you know that game - and Vail believes you'll make a play for my spot.'

'That's not very flattering,' Wesley said stiffly.

'It'll get your foot in the door. Fred.' He turned to look at her, 'you'll need this,' he threw the crystal from Illyria's sarcophagus at her, she caught it and immediately her eyes glowed ice blue. 'Keep that on you - it'll give you an edge in the fight. Now, Izzyrial the demon, his boss - Lord D'hakmarth - and two other members of the circle dine together nearly every night. '

'I'll make trophies of their spines,' she said, in a much deeper and more commanding voice than she normally used. The influence of the Old One seeped through her, infusing her with both the strength and the will to do damage of Illyria.

'Gunn.'

'Yo!'

'Your friend Senator Brucker has a campaign office in west L.A - you already knew she was pure hellspawn. And she tends to surround herself with vampires.'

Gunn grinned and nodded his head. 'I was hoping it'd be vamps. I haven't dusted nearly enough this year.' He glanced at Spike, 'no offence.'

'That's alright.'

'Spike,' Angel turned to him. Spike got to his feet. 'Right. First off, I'm not wearing any amulets. No bracelets, brooches, beads, pendants, pins or rings.'

The other vampire folded his arms, 'fine - all you need is a rattle.'

'Ah - the baby.'

'And a legion of the Fell Brethren. I want the baby returned to his parents and the foster family dismembered.' He ignored the pang in his heart, as he remembered giving his own son away to his new foster parents. No one would be bringing Connor back to him - that was the consequence of the choices he had made. But at least he could make it so it didn't need to be this way for one family out there.

'Done and done.'

'Archduke Sebassis has over 40,000 demons at his command. He's the key player in all this. So he's mine. Lorne.'

Lorne got to his feet, he had a look of distaste in his face - and his shoulders were slumped as if he had a great weight pressing down on them. 'Uh, I'm not a fighter, Angelwings,' he admitted. 'I never had the stomach for it. Looks like I'm your weak link.'

'I only need you to back up Lindsey.'

Lorne nodded his agreements, and then silence descended on them all again. The enormity of what they were about to do settled down on them, smothered them. This might be the very last time they were all together. 'So I guess we're not going back to the office after this?' Gunn asked.

Angel shook his head. Their meeting point - should any of them survive - was to be the alleyway just north of the Hyperion. 'If we do any damage, at all, The Senior Partners are gonna rain hell on us. So be ready.'

There was silence again - as they looked at each other, not wanting this last moment to be over, for their family to be separated forever … and then Lorne nodded his head, and turned to leave - the heavy treads of his footsteps echoing back at them.

Fred looked at everyone then, her eyes still glittering blue. 'So this is it,' her voice was still strange and deep. She looked at Gunn. 'try not to die - you are not unpleasant to my eyes.'

He chuckled, amused by the influence of the Old One on the tiny woman he loved so much. 'You too, Fred.' She left, and Gunn shook hands with Wes. 'the day went fast, huh?' He walked out. Wesley turned and looked back at Angel for a long moment. A look of understanding - of everything that had ever passed between them or stood in their way - was exchanged. And then Wesley gave a small smile, and turned to leave.

Angel and Spike were left alone, then. 'What do you think all this means for that Shanshu bugaboo?' Spike asked. 'If we make it through this, does one of us get to be a real boy?'

He remembered the red of his blood, his name signed at the top of the document - signing away his hope, his future, his redemption. He suppressed it all. 'Who are you kidding? We're not gonna make it through.'

Spike nodded, 'well - as long as it's not you.' He left. And - after a moment, Angel followed him out. Tonight was the end, for them - it was the end of everything they had ever been, everything they had ever done. It was the end of the mission. And yet tomorrow - when they had been ground into the dirt - the world would keep on turning, as if they hadn't made this sacrifice at all. But they were still going to do it. If nothing they did mattered, then all that mattered was what they did … and they were going to prove, once and for all, that the Senior Partners may own their lives, but they did not own their souls.

* * *

Vail dipped his spoon into his bowl of broth and took a mouthful, accompanied with much slurping and wheezing noises. He looked at the man sitting across the table from him. 'I'm curious….' he slurped another spoonful of soup. 'What makes you think I won't kill you where you sit?'

Wesley smiled, unruffled by the threat. 'Because you're smarter than the others. Smart enough to have your doubts about Angel - and rightly so. He's … unpredictable. And worse - he has a conscience.'

Vail wiped his mouth with a napkin. 'Well, you make a very convincing argument,' he wheezed.

'Wait. it gets better.' Wesley looked down at his hand, and conjured a small fireball in his palm.

...

Three hooded figures walked down the hallway, their faces were shrouded by their robes and their hands were clasped inside their voluminous sleeves. In the distance - the cries of a baby started to sound. The middle figure came to a stop - as the two flanking him walked away. Spike pushed his hood back, to try and locate the source of the noise.

...

Although it was late, Senator Brucker's campaign office was still busy. She sat behind her desk, talking on the phone whilst all the aides in the room got on with whatever task was keeping the wheels of her campaign machine turning tonight.

The senator was talking to a journalist. 'I can't officially comment on that, but off the record - if Mr. Conley's recent confession is true, then he's a very sick man who needs professional help.' She swivelled her chair round so she had her back to the door. 'One of the goals of my next term in Washington will be stronger federal guidelines…' She didn't see Gunn walk up to the office and come through the door.

Her aides spotted him, and circled - one of them swung a punch, but Gunn ducked it and then hit back, downing the first vampire before Senator Brucker even realised he was there.

...

The Sahrvin were in their lair - gathered together, drinking, The atmosphere was relaxed, some of them shared a hookah pipe, they talked amongst themselves … The peace was suddenly disturbed by a loud bang. The door shuddered in its hinges, and the demons turned to look - worried - as another of their kind was pushed through and tumbled to the ground, immediately followed by Lindsey, carrying a sword.

...

Izzy, his boss - Lord D'hakmarth - and their two companions left the restaurant and crossed the sidewalk to reach their car. The street was dark and quiet, after the noise and the lights of the bistro. Izzy unlocked the car and they all climbed in, the red skinned demon getting in the driver's seat and putting on his seat belt. He switched on the ignition and turned on the headlights. The beam shone onto a figure standing right in front of the car - staring in at them. It was a woman - human looking, but with terrifying blue eyes.

Fred tilted her head, curiously, and smiled.

* * *

The elevator bell dinged and the doors slid open. Lilah walked out into the lobby. She had got dressed and left the house as soon as Wesley had left. He came over to see her - to make love to her - and the world wasn't ending? Yeah right. She wasn't born yesterday. All that arguing this morning, she realised, it had been a ruse - a trick. The whitehats were up to something, and she intended to find out what.

But the place was deserted. It was late and most workers had long since gone home. And the team - not a one of them - was anywhere to be seen. Only Harmony was still there, working away at her computer, behind the front desk. 'Harmony!' Lilah barked, crossing to the desk and staring down at the vampire secretary.

Harmony looked up and smiled, 'oh - hey - you're back. Can I help you with something?'

'Where is everybody?'

'Everybody?' she asked vacantly, as if she didn't understand the question.

'Everybody - the team - Wonderbread and his grinning gang of good guys.'

'Oh them,' her smile grew wider and she shrugged her shoulders, 'they're not here.' she got back to her typing.

'I know they're not here,' Lilah said, through gritted teeth. 'That's why I asked where they are.'

'Beats me,' Harmony said glibly, not looking up from her computer. 'Angel never tells me anything, anyways - he's just off having his secret meetings and carrying out his secret plans.'

'_Secret plans?'_

The vampire realised she'd said too much. She looked up into Lilah's furious face. 'Oops.'

* * *

Angel arrived outside the Archduke's palace. He wasn't planning on going in, not unless it proved necessary … he just needed to see that his scheme had worked. Fortunately - even after all these years - he was still the number one champion when it came to lurking.

He skulked in the shadows of the compound walls and watched the chaos that was unfolding. This looked promising. The whole palace was in disarray - as if something seismic had happened inside. Soldiers - armed demons guards - ran around, without order - shouting and yelling and panicking. The Archduke's flag was flying upside down. The palace was in distress.

He looked upward and then jumped - in one great, silent bound - so he was on the top of the walls, and then ran around them so he could climb onto the outside of the palace. He scaled the building, peering in the windows - just a quick glance - too instant for anyone to notice him - and then pulling away. The throne room was filled with as many panicked demons as the courtyard - but the throne was knocked over, and the Archduke was missing.

The bed chamber was empty except for a couple of guards, pulling down the bed curtains and looting the drawers.

He found the Archduke in the bathroom - in the bath. Dead. The little man servant lay dead on the floor as well - and a glass of his blood rolled along the flagstones, spilling out. Angel peered in. He could hear the shouting and yelling and running around of the guards. Sebassis was dead - his empire was in chaos.

No one knew who was to blame, or how it could have happened. But the Archduke had been poisoned - the blood of his manservant spiked.

The one who was responsible for this, who had poisoned the manservant's blood by puncturing his skin with a poisoned ring down in the secret halls of The Circle of the Black Thorn, pulled his face away from the window and slipped away unseen. He was satisfied that Sebassis was really dead. He had seen it for himself. His job was done.

Angel ran back along the walls and then jumped down - out of the compound. The earth trembled beneath his feet, and he heard the frightened cries from inside grow louder. The end was near. He still had time. He should probably go and help one of his friends.

* * *

Cordelia was trying not to panic. 'Less haste more speed,' she kept saying to herself under her breath. But this was a nightmare. She had their passports - at least she had them, though they had no Euros. She tried not to think what they would do when they landed in Dublin, completely stranded without any money.

Instead she had pulled out the suitcases and was trying to pack as many of their clothes into them as she could fit. Not that she had clothes that were necessarily suited for northern European living. But she'd just have to deal with being cold when she got there. She didn't want to leave too much behind - she didn't know when - or if - they would be coming back. Whatever they left behind they would have to accept as lost. And she didn't want to lose too much. She was already losing her home and most of her family … She didn't want to lose her clothes and shoe collection too.

When she'd packed up the last of Doyle's hideous polyester shirts, and stuffed her diamond and ruby Pylean jewellery into her hand luggage, she ran into the bathroom to grab their toiletries.

Just as she was throwing the washbag in the case and closing the whole thing up, Doyle came into the bedroom, carrying Connor. He had switched the water off and gone round unplugging everything - even the fridge. 'Taxi's here,' he said.

'Oh god!' she straightened up and pushed her hands through her hair, leaving it standing wildly on end. 'Do we have everything?'

'Anything we leave behind we can get in Dublin, Princess - it's not a big deal.'

'But do we have everything important?'

He winked at her, 'as long as I got you, I got everythin' important.'

She took a deep breath. 'You're right. Of course you are. Passports, underwear, toothbrushes and each other - everything else can wait.'

'As long as you got a copy of those symbols we need to draw.'

She nodded - they were in her purse, with the passports and the plane tickets. 'OK- let's go.' She picked up both cases. Doyle kept hold of Connor and grabbed the little boy's case and then pulled the grille back from the elevator. 'We goin'?'

But Cordelia had come to a stop again - looking around. There were tears in her eyes.

'Cordy?'

'I just - I can't believe we're leaving this place. Again. It's where we met, where we fell in love - where we spent our wedding night.' Though that already seemed a million years ago.

'Ah, look on the bright side,' he changed his grip on the case, so he could take her by the arm and lead her into the elevator. 'If history's anythin' to go by, we'll only boomerang right back here in a couple o' years.'

He slammed the grille shut and pressed the button, and slowly they creaked their way up to the offices. Then they went out through Angel's old office, and through their own - past the green sofa which had seen so many dramas and then out of the door, leaving behind - forever - the first and last premises of Angel Investigations.


	89. Not Fade Away: Part Four

_Part Four_

Decision made, Angel hurried through the streets. He had killed Sebassis - or at least set it in motion - hours before the rest of them had even started. He had a full day's head start on his friends. Sebassis was dead. Angel's mission was complete - but it made little sense to just go and wait, for hours, in the alley and see if anyone else made it. Not when his friends were out there - battling alone - and in need of backup.

Not that he could be there for all of them. But it was obvious which one of them was facing the most powerful foe, was facing the biggest power imbalance. It had been a big ask, in the first place - though he had agreed to do it, without quibble. He always did as he was asked. Always did what he believed to be right. Did whatever it took to protect Angel - no matter how hard. Now Angel would return the favour.

The ground trembled beneath his feet. Great cracks in the sidewalk opened up. Above his head the sky was ripped apart by the rumbles of thunder. The Senior Partners could see him. They knew what he had done. But they did not yet realise the full scale of the attack.

That would come. All hell would break loose. But for now they were focused on him - raining down their displeasure. But all he had to do was dodge it, until he got where he was going. He ran onward, through the night.

* * *

The taxi had just driven out of the limits of the city, was out on the freeway headed for the airport, when they heard the first rumble of thunder.

'Looks like it's gonna be a nasty night,' the driver said, from the front seat.

'Yeah,' Doyle agreed. He had Connor balanced on his knee.

'Hope your flight doesn't get delayed due to the storm.'

'Yeah…'

Cordelia peered out of the window, up into the darkened sky. Clouds were gathering. The moon had been shining down, a bright jewel in the sky, but now it was obscured. There was a crackle in the air and a heaviness to the atmosphere that spoke of what was to come. And then there was the thunder.

She knew it was no coincidence. She knew this was no act of nature. This was the anger of the gods - and it was aimed at her family. And instead of being there with them, fighting with them, here she was headed in the opposite direction. Abandoning them to their fate. It just didn't feel right.

Whatever had happened between them this past year, no matter what differences they had had or the distance between the two sides of the fight … she had always believed she would be with Angel until the very end. Tonight was the end. And he had sent her away.

She felt Doyle's hand reach out and take her own - and she turned to look at him. She couldn't see him clearly, as it was so dark in the car, but the passing of streetlights illuminated his face for brief flashes of time before plunging him into shadow again and then passing another, and once more lighting him up with its orange glow. As much as she could tell, it looked like he was smiling at her.

'They'll be OK,' he said softly.

She shook her head. 'No they won't.'

'OK - no they won't. But it's what they chose. They wanted this.'

'We should be there with him.'

But this time it was Doyle that shook his head. 'He doesn't need us to die for him,' he kept his voice low so the driver wouldn't hear. 'If they're all gonna die tonight, then there's enough of 'em to do that, without us making up the numbers. He needs us to live. He needs us to look after Connor. He needs us to keep fighting his fight. This is their big moment - their final bow. It's what we do after they're gone that's gonna make the difference. That's what will really count.'

* * *

Lilah stood in Angel's office and stared out at the same night sky that was troubling Cordelia. She could feel it coming, The storm. The apocalypse. She had been here many times before; like the night Darla had sacrificed herself to bring Connor into the world - and the apocalyptic rainstorm that had accompanied it. _And in this time,_ _there will be no birth - only death. _

Then there had been the night it had rained fire, the flames falling from the sky - the embers drifting downward and settling on skin like burning pitch. She had stood here and fretted for Wesley that night, knowing he would be out in it. She had watched the flames fall and really believed the end was nigh. And then it wasn't.

But tonight was different, she could feel it. Tonight was final. And she still fretted for Wesley. Whatever stupid, whitehatted, idiotic and noble thing he had decided to do - that the vampire had asked of him - it would bring down ruination upon his head.

Even if the world was still standing in the morning, her Wesley would not be. And she knew it - deep in her heart. And he knew it too - why else would he come to her? He had said his goodbye.

She heard the click clack of heels and then smelled the scent of Chanel on the air. 'Something's going down isn't it?' Harmony said from the doorway.

She dragged her eyes away from the window and turned to look at the vampire. 'Something big,' she agreed. 'World changing.'

'It's Angel doing it?'

She felt a pang of loss in her heart. 'Among others.'

'What do we do?'

Lilah took a deep breath, and straightened her spine - pulling herself up to her full height. 'Grab the files, Harmony, and order some takeout - we're gonna pull an all nighter.'

'We are?' The vampire looked surprised.

'We are,' her voice was grim but determined. 'There's gonna be a regime change around here, in the morning - I feel it. And when that happens, Harmony - you and I are gonna end up on top.'

* * *

The baby lay in his crib, kicking his little feet under the blankets. Spike approached it, carefully, his face still disguised under his hood. 'Hello, Junior, the name's Spike.' He picked up the baby, it gurgled but didn't begin to cry. That was something at least. 'And lucky for you I'm on a strict diet.'

He turned. Three of the Fell Brethren were standing in the doorway, blocking his exit and looking incensed. 'Place the holy vessel back in the bassinet,' the leader commanded, his outrage all too audible in his voice.

Spike glanced down at the baby in his arms. And even though it couldn't possibly understand what was happening, understand the danger or understand the words spoken - it seemed to shake its tiny head at him. Telling him no.

He sighed. 'Right,' he shrugged the cumbersome robe off - no need for a disguise now he was caught - tucked the baby under one arm, and launched himself at the demons.

...

Lindsey's sword flashed through the air, taking out Sahrvin after Sahrvin. Many already lay dead on the floor - lying in the pools of their own blood. Behind the lawyer, Lorne acted as backup - but it was Lindsey who worked his way through the demon clan like a whirling dervish; cutting and thrusting and parrying, kicking his opponents away and then stabbing them in the chest, before moving right onto the next one.

These demons were not natural fighters, and had no weapons. They fell easily to his sword.

...

Wesley gestured with his arm, and Vail's ancient body flew through the air and crunched against the wall. He landed on the floor, tangled up in his tubes - his wheezing was heavy and echoed around the room.

Wesley walked over to him, slowly and deliberately. 'Your influence on this world is over,' he told the crumpled, wizened sorcerer. 'The rest of the circle will wither and die.' He conjured another fireball in his hand. 'Like you're about to.'

But Vail dragged himself back to his feet, straightening up as far as his hunched form would allow. His breath rattled in his chest. 'You don't know who you're dealing with, do you, boy?' He raised a hand and Wesley's fireball vanished from his palm and appeared at once in Vail's own. He closed his bony fingers around the flames, extinguishing them. 'I mean, really. I crap better magic than this. Now then, let me show you what a real wizard can do.' He raised a hand and Wesley seized up, frozen in place. He winced, as he felt himself lifted into the air.

...

The office was in chaos, Gunn was fighting every vampire in the place - slamming them around, throwing fast and furious punches. Although she could not have failed to notice his presence, by this point - the senator was still ignoring him. She stayed behind her desk, still giving her interview over the phone, whilst mayhem, bloodshed and violence raged around her.

She snapped her fingers at the one vampire left who was still working at his desk, signalling him to join the fight. He entered the fray - only to be immediately dusted by Gunn. Senator Brucker swivelled her chair slightly, to better ignore the fight. 'The families are protected against pedophiles and other undesirables. Even the United States govern-'

Gunn suddenly turned his attention to her. He pulled an axe from his back, where he had had it strapped, and hurled it across the office. It buried herself right into her skull, cutting her off mid sentence. She dropped the phone. Blood trickled down from the wound - and she was dead before she knew it had happened.

He smiled at the roomful of snarling vampires. 'Looks like you boys are gonna have to find yourself a new candidate.' They circled around him. He shook his head, 'and you wonder why folks don't vote.'

Two vampires rushed him at once - and he unfurled his wrist halters, plunging stakes into both their hearts simultaneously. The hidden wrist halters had been an old favourite of the family ever since the beginning - and they did Gunn proud now. But there were still many more vampires circling him, attacking him, and he had to take them on all by himself.

...

Fred's fight had been quick. So quick it was just a blur in her memory. Illyria had done most of the work, the human woman had sat in her own body - like a spectator - and let the Old One get stuck in.

Illyria unleashed - even a fraction of her - after the weeks buried inside Fred, had been frightening to watch. But it got the job done. She walked away from the car, its hood was crumpled and smoking, the roof was smashed in and there were blood stains splattered along the ground.

If only the next part could be so easy.

...

Lorne trod carefully, stepping over the bodies of the dead demons - all blood and robes and turbans mixed together, strewn around the place, littering the floor. The anagogic demon's face looked more than a little sick as he considered the bloodshed. Lindsey, on the other hand, was cheerfully washing the blood from his hands at the sink. 'Those guys were chumps,' he said. It had been too easy - he'd come here looking to die. Go down swinging - Angel had promised. Still - there was always the alley way.

'Now they're chunks,' Lorne replied, his mouth still twisted in distaste. 'You know - you're quite the master swordsman.'

'Well - I couldn't have done it without that high note in MacArthur Park.'

'Slays 'em every time.'

'Any word from the rest of the team?' He shut the water off and dried his hands.

'For all I know we are the team - I haven't heard squat.'

'I guess we'd better head on over to the hotel then … get ready for stage two.' He picked his sword up and grinned at Lorne. 'You coming?'

Lorne looked considerably less enthusiastic. 'I'm coming,' he said heavily and they walked out of the den, leaving the bodies behind them without looking back.

* * *

The announcement came over the tannoy - telling all passengers with small children to board first. 'This is us, then, Princess.' Their luggage had been taken from them, stowed in the hold and now they only had hand luggage and Connor. Cordelia took out the tickets and passports - and Doyle carried the little boy over to the line.

He was asleep for now, his head rested on Doyle's shoulder, his thumb tucked in his mouth. The pair of them trudged along, headed for the gate. It was late, and the combination of the pitch black outside and the fluorescent lights in the terminal combined to make it feel like it was so much later - and like neither of them had slept for months. The timeless tiredness of the departure lounge was uncanny - and the same story across the whole world.

They reached the Air Hostess who was checking tickets against passports. Cordy handed them over, her and Connor's blue and Doyle's burgundy. She held her breath - she had a letter from Angel giving her permission to take Connor out of the country, if it was queried … but she'd rather not get into it.

But the air hostess didn't seem to notice. She just smiled at the sleeping little boy, 'I bet you'll be glad to get him onto the plane.'

'I think we'll all be glad to get onto the plane,' Cordelia said.

'He's a beautiful little boy.'

She hesitated for a moment and then decided not to get into it. 'Thank you.'

There was another rumble of thunder. Connor stirred. 'Come on,' Doyle said to Cordy, 'let's get him to his seat.' Cordy took the boarding passes and passports back and they headed into the tunnel. The thunder sounded louder in here. 'I just hope they don't delay take off because of the storm,' Cordy muttered.

* * *

Wesley grunted with pain, as he was held in the magic grip of the ancient sorcerer. He dangled a foot above the ground, unable to move, whilst Vail circled him slowly; wheezing and gasping and dragging his IV behind him. 'Did you really think you had a shot at this?' the wizened demon sneered. 'I can bend the very fabric of reality to my will. Your parlour tricks could never kill me, boy.'

He came to a stop, looked into Wesley's pained face - and laughed. Wesley struggled to move. Even speaking was a strain. 'Then I'll just … have to do this … the old fashioned way.' With immense effort, he pulled out a switchblade, flicked it open and lunged it forward, trying to stab Vail.

Vail grabbed his arm, stopping him. 'Yes I suppose we will.' He held out a hand, and a curved dagger came flying from its place on the wall and landed in his outstretched palm. The size of it made Wesley's little knife look ludicrous - and inadequate. He thrust it, as hard as he could, straight into Wesley's gut - and the watcher groaned with pain as he felt the knife twist inside him, rip him apart with every turn.

Sweating and shaking - his whole body flooding with shock, he summoned one final fireball - a big one, right in his hand. It exploded and the force of it - so close to Vail - was enough to send the sorcerer flying, knocking him unconscious. As he lost consciousness, he lost his grip on the enchantments holding Wesley - and they were broken. In the distance, there was a sound of a door opening … but it all sounded very muffled and made little sense to the watcher.

As the shock died away and was replaced with the pain, Wesley felt his body collapse in on himself and he began to fall. The darkness swallowed him up and he was freefalling, hurtling to the ground ready to smash apart on impact. The light was gone, and time lost all meaning - there was just the fall - and the anticipation of the crash. But then strong arms caught him, out of nowhere, and instead of smashing down, he was gently lowered to the floor. 'Wesley!' Angel had hold of him. Angel had come.

'It's dark in here,' Wesley gasped out, though the chamber had been brightly lit just moments before. 'Dark - and cold. Is it dark...?' And then he realised what this must mean. 'I'm dying aren't I?' His voice was even - matter of fact - he realised the truth and he faced it, the way he had always done. The way he had always been taught to do. Those hours under the stairs … today was what they had been for, so he was hard enough - on the inside - to look at the terrible truth and not flinch. He had done a lot of that, over the years, staring at truths too terrible to name and facing up to them, even when the others couldn't; looking reality in the eye and accepting it, in the hope it would all be worth it in the end. Well this was the end. And it wasn't worth it. It wasn't. But the truth didn't change - and so he would continue to face it.

The others were not made of that same stern stuff, however. They reached for the comforting lie over the coldness of truth. Even now. 'No - Wes - we just need to get…' Angel's voice was soft, but there was no hiding the panic - or the fear - just underneath the surface. He knew Wesley couldn't survive this wound but - champion though he was - he was not yet ready to admit it. Not ready to face the pain - and refuse to flinch. He was reaching for kindness … and cowardice.

That made Wesley laugh - a burst of gasping pain bubbling out from between his lips like mirth. 'You don't have to pretend. We've always been honest with each other, Angel - you and I. Don't lie to me now. Not now.'

Angel held his hand, and nodded, his head bowed with grief - accepting the truth because Wesley asked it of him but not liking it even so. 'Yeah - Wes - it's bad … you won't last more than a couple of minutes.' As much as it hurt, he couldn't deny this final request - to be honest. It was all Wesley asked and it was all Angel had to give. So he told the truth - and ignored the pain in his own unbeating heart.

'So this is it,' Wesley breathed. He peered up at his friend, trying to bring his face into focus. Angel's face would be the last thing he ever saw. And that felt right somehow. It was what he suddenly found he wanted. Angel had done more for him than any other person on the planet, had given him a job when he was desperate, given his life meaning and purpose, taught him to believe in himself, find confidence in his own abilities. Angel had saved his soul - given him everything that mattered, and in return Wesley had stolen everything from him. And now it was all over - and they were together. As it should always have been. 'I'm glad you came, I'm glad you're here with me - that I'm not alone.'

'I'm glad too.'

'I need to say sorry.'

'You don't -'

'No…' he hissed with pain, the air escaping from between his teeth. 'I want to. For taking Connor - for everything …'

'That doesn't matter now. It's all in the past.'

'But it's the reason ... why we are where we are today. My actions … led to all this… and I'm sorry … and I'm glad I got a chance to say that. I blew everything apart - our family...'

'Doesn't matter.'

'But for a while there - we were good, weren't we?'

'We were the best,' Angel assured him, still gripping his hand. 'You, me - the whole team.'

Wesley smiled - and his eyes became distant. 'Angel Investigations... We helped the…' and then he went still and the light in his eyes went dim and blank. Angel shuddered with grief. 'Hopeless,' he finished up, reaching out to close Wesley's eyes. He sat there for a moment, holding his hand, and ached with loss.

'How very touching his meaningless death was,' Vail sneered, walking towards them - awake and on his feet once more - his IV trailing behind him. 'But this fight was never meant for mortals.'

Angel let Wesley's hand drop - and he got to his feet, turning to stare at the ancient demon. Vail must have seen something in his eyes - must have understood something of the loss Angel was feeling, because he suddenly let out a rasp of his death rattle laugh, wheezing and gasping. 'Oh - you grieve for the life of this human. It was important to you, well…' he rasped again and spread his arms wide, 'try for your revenge. Take your best shot, vampire.'

Angel swung his fist back, his face vamping out mid swing, he balled all his grief and anger and pain into this one blow and - when it landed - it landed with so much force, so much raw, grief-fuelled power that Vail's head collapsed on impact and shattered into dust, scattering on the floor.

* * *

The engines whined as the plane struggled into the air, battling the winds and the lashing rain. There were murmurs from inside the cabin, passengers wishing maybe they hadn't tried to take off after all. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed through the sky in jagged forks. The plane bumped up and down over pockets of turbulence - and the people inside yelped.

Doyle and Cordy sat side by side, holding hands on the armrest and peering out through the window. They knew this was no ordinary storm, of everybody up there on that flight - they were the only ones who knew they were flying through the pre-show of the apocalypse.

As they bumped up and down in the air, hitting a particularly bad spot, the lights in the cabin - switched off for takeoff - suddenly flickered back on, and then back off again. The seatbelt signs started to flash as the electrics went haywire in the storm. Then the overhead lockers began to unlatch, opening up and pouring hand luggage down on their hands. People began to scream. Children began to cry. The lightning flashed again, illuminating them in its eerie glow and then a second later the great rumble of thunder sounded.

Only the two newlyweds seemed unaffected by the danger the plane was in, seemed more worried about something else going on out there - something bigger than one little flight caught up in bad weather.

'I can't stand this,' Cordelia said. She had Connor on her lap, the seat belt strapped around both of them. He was still asleep, for now.

'We've seen the end of the world before,' Doyle told her, squeezing her hand.

'But this is different isn't it?'

'Maybe.'

'This one feels different. It feels like it's final. This is the end.'

He squeezed her hand again and turned away from the window to look at her, fretting in the middle seat. 'Then we're better off outta there. This isn't our fight, Cordy. We're not supposed to be there - not in this timeline or any other. This is their destiny, all of them, they were always meant to end up where they are. But us?' He shook his head. 'We rewrote our destiny, gave ourselves a brand new future - and now it's time we go out there and live it.'

The plane struggled onward, battling its way through the sudden and unforecast storm until it finally passed over the border out of L.A county, though only the plane's radar would pick up on such a fact. All of a sudden, the winds and the rain just died away, leaving them in an unexpected hush. The plane righted itself, and continued to climb higher - now the going was smooth. After a while, the pilot's voice came over the speakers, apologising for the turbulence and telling them they could now remove their seat belts, giving them information about the length of the flight, their estimated time of arrival and what the weather was doing in Dublin.

Between them, Cordy and Doyle lifted up the hand rest, and gently manoeuvred Connor so he was stretched out between the two of them. It was a struggle to get comfy, in their narrow airplane seats, with a toddler lying across them - but they carefully shuffled and fidgeted until it wasn't too bad and they could try to sleep. The plane flew steadily through the clear night skies - taking these final two refugees out of the war-zone of L.A and into the future. Whatever was to come, and whatever became of their friends, they would always be together - and they would always have the mission. But their destiny was now their own to make.

* * *

The rain poured down - thick sheets of icy precipitation smashing down and bouncing off the pavements. Angel ran through the streets, slipping and splashing through the puddles, kicking up great sprays of water as he raced to the place he was going to make his last stand. It never rained like this - not in L.A. Not unless something big was going down.

It reminded him of the night Connor was born, and of Darla dying in the alley. He had died in an alley - now he was about to die in another. _This child is the one good thing we ever did together. The only thing. You make sure you tell them that. _It hurt too much to remember - and he pushed the memory away, thinking instead of another night, another rainstorm.

He thought of the night with Faith, their confrontation, her breakdown - one lost soul saved. Though that night made him think of Wesley, how could it not? And his chest ached with grief once again.

He reached the alleyway behind the hotel and looked around, he was the only one there. He hoped he was not the only one coming. The thunder roared again - the sky ripping apart and lighting up with a bolt of lightning, before plunging him into darkness again. He heard a noise and turned to look. Spike was running down the alley towards him. 'Boo!'

'Anyone else?' Angel asked him.

He shook his head, 'not so far. You feel the heat?'

'It's coming.' The pressure in the air was smothering. Although the rain was ice cold, the air around it was boiling, heavy - and waiting. Whatever was coming, it was close - the air was humming with it.

'Finally got ourselves a decent brawl.'

There was another flash of lightning - and it illuminated Gunn, he was running towards them - though he seemed to be in pain. He held his trusty axe in one hand. 'Damn! How did I know the fang boys would pull through,' he greeted them exuberantly when he saw them, though his steps were getting weaker - his wound was taking its toll. 'You're lucky we're on the same side, dogs, 'cause I was on fire tonight.' He wrapped his free arm around his midsection and hunched over. 'My game was tight.' His voice was weak now.

The vampires converged on him, able to tell how badly hurt he was by the smell of his blood in the air. They helped him sit down on a packing crate. 'You're supposed to wear that red stuff on the inside, Charlie boy,' Spike said to him.

Gunn glanced down at his wound, but there was nothing he could do about it. 'Any word on Wes?'

Angel felt another pang of grief. He would tell them when they all got there - so he only had to say it once.

Lorne and Lindsey melted out of the shadows then, still clutching their swords. 'We got a full house?' Lindsey asked, looking around.

'Not yet.'

And then Fred jumped down from the chain mail fence, landing among them, her eyes still strange and blue.

'So - we just waiting on Wes?' Gun asked.

'Wes isn't coming,' Angel said heavily. 'He didn't make it. First soldier down.'

Everyone looked down, shock and pain and grief eating into them all. They knew they were here to die - but to already be one soldier down - it hurt, more than it should, given the circumstances.

Gunn winced, his head bowed. There had been no two people more different on the face of the planet, when they had first met, than Charles Gunn and Wesley Wyndam Price, Rogue Demon Hunter. But Wesley was the man who took a bullet for Gunn, he was the man Gunn learned to follow gladly into battle, learned to call his best friend. And now he was gone.

Fred had her head bowed as well. 'I feel grief,' she said, in her strange voice - as Illyria tried to put Fred's feelings into words. 'I cannot seem to control it.' Her head snapped up and her blue eyes flashed. 'I wish to do more violence.'

The ground trembled beneath their feet and in the distance came the sounds of a rampaging horde. 'Well, wishes just happen to be horses, today,' Spike said, as the pure demon army came thundering towards them - wielding their weapons and screaming their battle cry.

Angel stared down the alley. There were hundreds - maybe thousands of them, rushing towards his small and exhausted band of fighters: demons and monsters and ogres and giants. Lorne raised his sword, his expression was nervous - verging on terrified. 'I got a bad feeling about this.'

The sky split open - and a dragon unfurled its wings and flew down with a great shriek.

Gunn struggled back to his feet and hefted his axe. 'OK, you take the 30 000 on the left…' They banded closer together, weapons raised, the torrential rain still pouring down on them. Fred looked at Gunn, wanting to say something comforting, or some kind of goodbye - but when she opened her mouth, it was still Illyria controlling her words. 'You're fading. You'll last ten minutes at best.'

He grinned at her, seeming to understand. 'Then let's make 'em memorable.'

Angel took a step forward, the others followed him, crowding round. 'In terms of a plan?' Spike asked him.

'We fight.' He stuck in his hand in his pocket, feeling the object Doyle had given him. He turned it over in his hand and switched it on.

'Bit more specific?'

'Well - personally, I wanna slay the dragon.'

With a wild yell, the demon army picked up its pace and came crashing down the alley way - bristling with blades and axes and claws and teeth. Angel stood his ground, staring the horde down. He felt his team at his back, where they always were. Where he needed them. 'Let's get to work.'

He pulled Doyle's beacon out from his pocket, just as it detonated - and its cleansing light blew the first ten rows of marauding demons clean away. Then Angel swung his broadsword...

...

_Bottom line is, even if you see 'em coming, you're not ready for the big moments. No one asks for their life to change. Not really. But it does. So what are we? Helpless? Puppets? No. The big moments are gonna come. You can't help that. It's what you do afterwards that counts. That's when you find out who you are._

* * *

**A/N Oh my goodness - it seems madness that here we are and this is it, but here we are and this is it! There is one more chapter left - an epilogue to give the story a bit more closure than the show ever gave us, and I'll post that tomorrow. And then it really will be done. I hope you all come back to read it.**

**Thank you to everyone for reading this far, especially to the people who have left comments along the way - writing this whole series has taken almost three years and is well over a million words long, so any and all encouragement to keep plugging away has been very gratefully received. I hope, now we're at the end, the journey has been worth it. **

**If anyone out there still needs a Doyle/Cordy fix after this, I am writing a prequel to this series which is currently being posted though isn't finished. It's called 'Moments that Make you' (from the other half of the Whistler quote that this story is named after - see what I did there?) the format is very different but it will eventually go all the way up to the beginning of season 1 of this fiction. **

**Thanks again for reading, and see you tomorrow for the very final instalment of the story xx **


	90. What You Do Afterwards

**What you do Afterwards**

Willow gazed down at the world spread out beneath her. So here she was, a higher being - this was her life now, or afterlife … whatever. It came as a bit of a surprise, though maybe it shouldn't. Her progress hadn't exactly been linear - but it had been explosive: science nerd, computer hacker, pencil floating wannabe wicca, uberwitch, ultimate evil … demi goddess. But somehow, despite the sudden turn her day had taken, it felt right. She had all that power, could bend the universe to her will, it made sense to make it official - recognise that she had grown beyond the mortal plane. There was a lot she could do up here.

She sought out each of her friends. Xander was in Africa, he was doing OK. He would be the hardest hit when word got out that Willow was missing, but he would be OK - she would see to it. She looked at Giles down in London, training the new slayers in his school, and then at Buffy and Dawn in Rome. Buffy was already grieving, her boyfriend had been killed, mysteriously - Dawn was helping her through. The loss of Willow would come as another hard blow.

But from up here, Willow could finally understand - really feel - why Buffy had suffered so much when she returned from the dead. Because from up here, she could see it all - the beginning and the end and everything that came in the middle. It made a kind of sense, finally. She felt at peace. And she knew everything would be all right, the people she loved would be all right. She just knew. No matter what the battles, no matter how final an ending, the world would keep on turning and the humans down there would heal and grow and get better.

But speaking of battles - speaking of endings - the world was burning, down in L.A. One ragtag bundle of warriors facing down the wrath of the darker powers. They were doing a good job - fighting and standing. The blood ran from their wounds, washing away in the pouring rain. But still they stood and still they fought. The other side was throwing everything it had and the kitchen sink at Angel and his friends … but she was there watching, helping, balancing the scales… she had that kind of power now. They would survive the night, she would see to it.

She smiled to herself and scanned the world again, it was all so busy down there - all so hectic, everything hurt. From up here, it was all so clear. She caught sight of an airplane, crossing the Atlantic and, for something so ordinary, it had a bright aura of destiny shining around it, making it extraordinary in its ordinaryness. She focused on it, wondering … and then caught sight of the young married couple, The Promised One and the slayer, flying off to their future. Good for them, she thought - their future looked bright and rosy - and wide open.

...

In the dim cabin, Connor stirred - finally waking up. He was uncomfortable and he missed his daddy, his ears hurt and, wherever he was, it smelled funny.

'He's waking up,' he heard his Aunty Cordy say.

Doyle pulled the little boy over onto his own knee, so he was sitting up instead of lying across them both. 'Hey, Connor - you awake, bud?'

The little boy mumbled something incoherent and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

'We don't want him to wake up yet,' Cordy said, 'there's hours before we land. We need to get him back down.'

'Maybe we should give him a snack,' he jigged the toddler up and down on his knee, 'you hungry?'

Carefully, Cordelia got to her feet, opened the overhead lockers and took out the hand luggage Angel had packed for his son. There were some carrot sticks in there, and apple juice in a sippy cup. She handed them across to Doyle, who put his tray down and let Connor help himself.

Cordelia got back into her seat and rested her head against Doyle's shoulder.

'You OK?' he asked her.

'I'm just … frightened.'

'For the others?'

'Yeah … and for us. I've never been to Ireland - what if I hate it?'

He chuckled. 'Well - it's gonna take a lot of acclimatising, for both of us. Dublin is … not like L.A. At all. But if we're not happy, we don't have to stay there - we can move on. London … Paris … we talked about living overseas once we were married, remember?'

'Yeah - I just … didn't think it would happen so quickly. And with a baby in tow.'

'Hey! Connor's not a baby!' He switched his attention to the little boy, 'are you, buddy? He's a big boy! He'll take care of us.' They both smiled down at where the toddler was calmly eating his snack.

Once he was done, they cleared it all away and resettled down. Connor was still on Doyle's knee, but the Irishman now had one arm slung around Cordelia's shoulders, her head resting against his chest. It was a tight squeeze, but it was cosy and warm and felt … like everything Doyle had ever imagined having a family of his own would feel like.

But Connor was grizzling, not yet ready to sleep. 'You should sing to him,' Cordelia said.

'Me?'

'I have a terrible singing voice.'

He chuckled. 'That you do, Princess, that you do.' He stroked her hair, absently, with one hand, and held Connor tight with the other and leaned his head back against the seat, as he raked his mind for a lullaby he knew all the words to. '_Puff the magic dragon lived by the sea and frolicked in the autumn mists in a land called Honilee…'_

He felt them both go quiet and snuggle down closer to him as he started to sing. '_Little Jackie Paper loved that rascal puff…' _

They were both still, their breathing becoming regular, '_and brought him strings and sealing wax and other fancy stuff…'_

His eyes started to glaze over, and grow blurry - something flickered in front of him, distant and out of focus. '_Together they would travel on a boat with billowed sail, Jackie kept a lookout perched on Puff's gigantic tail…'_

The flickering shapes grew bigger and clearer - and he realised they were people. And then he recognised Angel - and Gunn - and Fred … they were fighting - great big monsters, hundreds of them. His stomach lurched. He realised he was having a vision. They were different to the way they had always been, there was no pain - because he had reached atonement, he was no longer being punished - and they weren't images trapped in his head anymore, but it was like he was watching it go on around him in 3d. He could see the darkened cabin and the shapes of the slumbering passengers, and at the same time, he could see his family - retreated to the familiar lobby of the Hyperion - fighting their war. He tried not to let on that anything was amiss to Cordy and Connor, something the pain would have made impossible before his redemption.

'_Noble Kings and princes would bow when'er they came. Pirate ships would lower their flags when Puff roared out his name,' _he sang, as he watched Angel behead a demon that looked like a warthog and then take a step back and use the beacon again.

'_A dragon lives forever but not so little boys. Painted wings and giant's rings make way for other toys_.' A giant demon smashed through the lobby windows, and Doyle watched as it took down Lindsey, dropping the lawyer to the floor. Immediately, Fred was there, she used the power of Illyria's crystal to send a timewave, slowing the demon down and then she launched herself at it - and Spike joined in - pushing the demon back and slashing at it with his blade. Lindsey fell to the floor at a glacial pace, being trapped inside the timewave - and Lorne was able to catch him before he smashed down on the hard marble. He knelt down, holding the fallen man, holding his hand so he knew he was not dying alone, and watched the battle raging on around him.

'_One grey night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more. And Puff, that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar.' _Angel and Gunn were battling away with an ogre… Gunn swung his axe and buried it deep in the monster's chest.

'_His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain. Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane.' _The only person he couldn't see - the only soldier missing - was Wesley. Doyle's heart hurt as he understood what that must mean. He glanced down at Cordelia's head, resting on his shoulder. She was peaceful and quiet. He wouldn't tell her yet. If any of the other's survived, they would ring with the news. But if Cordelia was expecting her friends to die anyway, there was no need to hurt her by telling her one of their number had already fallen.

'_Without his lifelong friend, Puff could not be brave. So Puff that magic dragon sadly slipped into his cave.' _

The images shimmered and vanished, the vision dispelled as suddenly as it had arrived. But he had seen his friends - most of them anyway - one last time. And he knew, somehow and without understanding why, that they would be OK. Perhaps it was knowledge that came courtesy of his very brief stint as a higher power, perhaps it was the proof he had that the powers were really there, really watching, really balancing the scales, but he knew they would survive this battle. They would live to fight another day.

'_Puff the magic dragon lived by the sea…' _Cordelia's head felt heavy on his shoulder now, she had begun to snore gently. He smiled down at her fondly. Connor, likewise had gone still, his little face smooshed against Doyle's chest, his mouth open. '_And frolicked in the autumn mist in the land called Honilee.'_

His song came to an end, and he looked down at his family. He seemed to have done the job. They were slumped against him and completely still, their eyes closed and their chests rising and falling with regular breaths. He had got them to sleep before the song was even finished. Not bad for his first night as both a husband and a father. It looked like there was no need to keep on singing.

'Is that it?' Doyle murmured to himself, wondering that it had been so easy. He planted a kiss first on Cordelia's slumbering head and then on Connor's. He smiled down at them, realising there was nothing more he needed to do for his family before he could settle down to rest, himself. He closed his eyes and felt a sense of peace and contentment wash over him. 'Am I done?'

**The End**


End file.
